


Stutter Shook and Uptight

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Prequel, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, cruel intentions inspired, hopper makes a bet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Benny Hammond just wants his friends to be happy. He makes a wager with Jim Hopper regarding an on-the-verge-of-divorce Joyce Byers. Set in 1979.Title is from the song 'Colorblind' by The Counting Crows, a song that is from the film this fic loosely inspired.Follow me on tumblr! @starmaammke or my fic side blog @strangerthingsfics





	1. Coffee Black and Egg White

**Stutter Shook and Uptight**

**Hawkins, Indiana**

**1979**

 

“Jesus, those two fight loud. Wish they’d keep it in their own house instead of my parking lot.”

 

“Want me to bust ‘em?”

 

“Nah, leave Joyce alone. She’s got enough troubles as is.”

 

Jim Hopper gazed blearily over his shoulder and through one of the wide windows of Benny’s Burgers, taking in the proceedings in the parking lot with dull, unfocused senses. Lonnie Byers was screaming down at his wife, Joyce Byers  née Calloway. If he hadn’t been three sheets to the wind, the sight would have stirred something akin to protectiveness within him. He had always had a soft spot for Joyce, even after she had dumped him for the garbage weasel she now called a husband.

 

“I’m off-duty any -” he gave a mighty belch. “-anyhow. Where are the boys? They shouldn’t have to see this.”

 

“Lonnie’s mom’s house. It’s date night, or post-therapy dinner, if you believe the rumors. Don’t seem like it’s workin’ too good.”

 

“Well,” Jim corrected.

 

“You sound like Joyce in high school. Little school marm. It’s a shame what being married to him s’done. She was smart as fuck. I owe all my C pluses to her.”

 

“Book smart people ain’t got a lick of common sense, Benny,” Jim mumbled. He took a long pull from his bottle of Schlitz as he recalled Joyce pulling him out of some academic rough patches back in the day. “And she’s probably still sharp as a tack.”

 

As if on cue, Joyce landed an open-palmed slap to one of Lonnie’s bearded cheeks. Benny whistled low at the sight and dropped his towel onto the counter before heading to the front door. “You sit tight, Johnny Law, I’ll take care of this.”

 

Jim turned the stool so that he could observe the fracas, leaning his back against the edge of the counter in order to anchor his large, unstable frame to the seat. Benny stalked out into the parking lot, arms out and palms up, speaking too low for Jim to properly discern. Something about a place of business. A bit about Lonnie going home to cool off and Benny giving Joyce a ride home in a few hours. 

 

“It’s my car, Benny! He’s just going to drive off to see his whore!” Joyce protested, loud and clear for those listening in. Lonnie stepped forward and raised one hand, ready to descend it against the side of Joyce’s head. Benny grabbed the man by the offending arm and pushed him backwards. Lonnie stumbled, but regained his footing. 

 

“You can walk, man; give me the fucking keys and get off my property!” Benny bellowed, his calm demeanor vanishing and giving way to hunched shoulders and clenched fists. He had at least five inches of height and 50 pounds on Lonnie, a fact that was not lost on the smaller man as he blanched, took a few steps back, and pointed a trembling finger towards Joyce, who immediately fished into her coat pocket and shoved the keys into Benny’s large, meaty right hand. Lonnie immediately turned on his heel and stalked off.

 

Jim straightened his posture when Benny led Joyce into the diner. Her tiny frame was rigid, her lips pressed into a severe line as her large, dark eyes darted about, taking in her surroundings. Her normally pale cheeks were was blotched with angry crimson.

 

“Easy, Joycie, easy,” Benny murmured, leading her to a booth. Jim left his stool and approached the both of them, trying to pull his face into an expression of sympathy. 

 

“Hey, Calloway,” he greeted softly.

 

“Shut up, Hop. I bet you loved seeing that,” she snapped as she covered her face with her hands and exhaled. 

 

Benny slid into the booth next to her a placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not fair, kiddo; everyone is sorrier than hell about you and Lonnie’s troubles.” 

 

Joyce shrugged his hand away and shook her head. “What a lie. Everyone thinks I’m insane, and that poor Lonnie is better off without me.”

 

Jim scoffed and sat across from Joyce and Benny. “Bullshit. That weasel-faced fucker should have been thanking his lucky stars every single day you decided to put up with his crap.”

 

Joyce lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at Jim, her lips pursed ever-so-slightly as though contemplating his words and finding them utterly baffling. Jim did not tear his eyes away from her skeptical face, and they both studied each other wordlessly, before Benny cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence that hung over the booth. 

 

“How about a burger on the house, Joyce? Maybe a strawberry malt and some fries to go with it?”

 

Joyce shook her head and patted Benny on the arm. “I’ll pay for a big plate of chili fries, because I’m not a charity case, but I will take a beer from Hop’s cooler, unless you have something stronger. But just one drink, I have to go pick the boys up from Agatha’s house.”

 

Jim had been keeping a bottle of whiskey stored in Benny’s kitchen ever since he moved back to Hawkins after his divorce. It had not taken long for him to realize that his old friend was a reliable and sympathetic ear, and a trip to the diner was a three times a week occurrence, sometimes more, depending on how much the prospect of an empty trailer terrified him -- sometimes less, if he managed to find a pretty companion at the bar. 

 

“Here, you only need about this much,” Jim intoned softly as he carefully poured a shot’s worth of whiskey into a plastic soda pop cup. “It’s not for throwing back either; sip it nice and slow.” He placed a glass of water in front of her as well. “This is to balance it out so you can get those boys home safely.” Funny, he never allowed himself the same courtesy while getting hammered. Water was for the weak, and for distraught mothers who needed to vent, but also needed to pick their kids up from the in-laws. 

 

“You’re a god among men, Sparky,” Joyce quipped before bring the cup to her lips. He blushed at the old nickname, it was one he hated actually.

 

_ Why do you keep calling me that? _ He had asked her, years ago, while following her and Karen Bianchi (now Wheeler) down the hallways of Hawkins High. He had been carrying his books and hers (and Karen’s) that day. The girls exchanged glances and giggled. Later, he would find out that he had gained the moniker when Karen had compared him to a loyal dog following his mistress. Joyce had joked that she had always wanted a dog named Sparky. The revelation had stung, and he took out his retribution via a date with Chrissy Carpenter that ended in the backseat of his dad’s car. 

 

_ How do you like your ‘Sparky’ now? _ He had regrettably jeered at her when she found out during lunch period the next day. His resolve had crumbled when he saw the tears shining in her eyes. He crumbled shortly after, when his shin took the business end of her foot. It ended his football career for the season, but the two of them reunited for a brief and intense moment before Vietnam and Lonnie Byers came into the picture.

“I’ve always hated that name, Calloway.”

 

Joyce shrugged. “And I haven’t been Joyce Calloway for a really, really long time.”

 

Benny chuckled and leaned against the wall so he could see both Joyce and Jim from his vantage point in the booth. “You’ll always be Joyce Calloway to us. Feistiest little sonofabitch to ever come out of Hawkins.”

 

Another shrug. Joyce turned to Benny rested her left elbow on the table, and her cheek against her right palm. She exhaled softly, puffing out her bottom lip in what might have been a pout on a younger, more petulant woman. On Joyce, it was as natural a sign of resignation as the slouch in her too thin shoulders. Her large, amber eyes shined curiously, but no tears escaped their tired vicinity. “But I never came out of Hawkins. I’m still here, and I don’t have any fight left in me.”

 

Jim was at war with himself. Here was the woman who had broken his teenaged heart right before he shipped off to the second most harrowing experience of his life. Here was incontrovertible proof that her life had been made a misery by her choice to leave him. A small, petty part of him wanted to cheer, and he might have done if life hadn’t likewise destroyed his ability to celebrate anything - there was another part of him, a much larger part of him, that wanted to take her into his arms and just hold her for a twenty minutes without speaking. A gesture of solidarity to let her know that she wasn’t the only person twisted by the winds of change. He stared at her for a long while, searching his brain for the right thing to say - Benny seemed similarly flummoxed, and excused himself from the conversation so he could prepare Joyce her meal. 

 

“Then you should sleep. Time to build up that strength I know you still have in droves,” Jim finally announced. Joyce gave him a perplexed look. “Call Agatha and tell her you’ll pick up the boys in the morning. I’m gonna take you back to my place and let you get some goddamn peace and quiet.”

 

Joyce’s eyes widened as she shot out of her seat. “Now, look here, Hop--”

 

“To sleep. I mean it. No funny business, whatsoever. You want to give Lonnie time to cool down before going back into that house, and you don’t want the boys to witness another blowout, am I right?”

 

Joyce sat and nodded slowly. “I guess.”

“I promise it will be innocent. I’ll sleep on the couch. You have nothing to worry about on that account, darlin’. That ship has sailed.” Jim felt a curious twist in his gut. It was the same breathless feeling he got anytime he found himself lying. Not about her being safe from his hound dog ways, that was true. He’d never, ever, ever, EVER, impose himself on someone who was unwilling - no, it was the sentiment that their time had passed, that he magically didn’t find her compelling, attractive, and fierce, even in her state of despair. It was a dangerous thought, the one that caused his eyes to linger a little too long on her plump bottom lip and her expressive, dark eyes. 

 

“Okay, Hop, but I’m driving. You reek of cheap beer.” She stood and shouted into the kitchen, asking if it was okay for her to use the telephone.

 

“Sure thing, Joycie!” Benny hollered back over the sound of the deep fryer. Jim’s stomach growled at the smell of grease and chili.

 

“You can drive, but you’re gonna have to pay the toll and give me some fries,” he informed Joyce as she settled back into her seat. He was rewarded with a sad little half-smile that had the ghost of sassiness lingering in the corners. It did nothing for his resolution to veer away from nostalgic romanticism. 

 

Much later, after he made Joyce sit in her car while he frantically tried to clear away the refuse of his slovenly ways out of sight in his trailer, she was settling comfortably in his bedroom, wearing one of his old Henleys. He desperately tried to ignore the fact that she looked outrageously fetching in it, even as the sleeves had to be rolled up to her elbows and the hem trailed below her knees. 

 

“I’ll - uh - I’ll be in the living room if you need anything. The hallway light is on, and so is the one above the stove.” His eyes darted between the carpeted floor and the window. Anywhere that wasn’t the bed she was sitting in the middle of, her knees drawn to her chest and her auburn hair tousled and wild. 

 

“Thanks, Jim.”

 

He slept fitfully that night, his body too large for the couch, and his thoughts to addled by his normal troubles, plus the one that was currently sleeping in his bed. The next day, Joyce drove him back to Benny’s so he could pick up his truck. She gave him a sad little wave, and went on her way. 

 

“So, nothing happened,” Benny restated as the two of them shared a pre-shift coffee.

Jim frowned and shook his head. “No, I was just trying to be a friend. God knows she needs one in this town.”

 

Benny took a long drag of his cigarette and smirked. “Sure. You two have a history of being real friendly-like.”

 

“It’s not like that.” He saw something sparkle in Benny’s skeptical eyes. It irked something deep inside of Jim’s gut, that feeling that someone was seeing something he barely understood but wanted desperately to conceal. “Fuck off, Benny.”

 

Benny chuckled and raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Sorry, man. I just figured with you taking home every available women within a thirty mile radius, a trip down Memory Lane would be inevitable.”

 

Jim snorted and looked down at the coffee cup he was cupping between his hands. “Naturally.”

 

“Married women are probably beyond your seduction skill set anyway.”

 

Jim jerked his head up to glare at his friend. “You think so?” 

 

Benny leaned back against the booth, draping his enormous arms over the top. He was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes alight with mischief. “Yeah. You do pretty well with the single barflies, but I don’t think you’d ever be able to pull someone like Joyce away from her vows.”

 

“I've taken home women with pale lines where their rings should be. That's nothing new.”

 

 “Sure, man.”

The nagging twist or irritation was back. Between the two hours of sleep, the wave of old memories, and being called ‘Sparky’ again, Jim was beginning to feel less than tolerant of the conversation he was having with his so-called best friend.

 

  “Bet you 200 big ones I can get Joyce Byers to forget she even has a husband.”

 

“Throw in a full pardon of my traffic citations and we have a deal.”

 

 “Add free food whenever I want it to your side of the wager.”

 

Benny let out a belly laugh that shook the table of the booth. “Deal. Let me get paper and a pen so we can get it in writing.”


	2. No one Gets to Come in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Domestic Violence

**Stutter Shook and Uptight**

**Chapter Two:**

**No one Gets to Come in**

* * *

 

 

“He’s here!” Jonathan Byers shouted from the front porch. Joyce, who had been scrubbing the living room carpet, groaned. It was her day off, it was Spring Cleaning Day, the boys were helpful and happy, this was not convenient. She stood and opened the front door.

 

“Take your brother to your room and shut the door - put the broom down; you aren’t going to hurt him with that thing! - Jonathan, do as I say and go now.” She pulled the broom from hands that held it like a baseball bat, threw it aside, placed a guiding hand to the middle of her oldest son’s back, and gave him a little push towards the open door. 

 

“Hey, let me say hello to my goddamn kids!” Lonnie shouted out of driver’s side window of his Camaro. 

 

Joyce took a defiant stance; feet planted two feet apart, hands firmly on her hips, shoulders square, and a fixed scowl. “Come back here sober and we’ll talk.”

 

Lonnie stumbled out of the car and towards the porch, proving her point. She could smell the skunk of booze at ten paces. “You missed couples therapy, Joyce.”

 

Unbelievable. Joyce scoffed and shrugged. “You ran out on us after the last therapy session! This is literally the first time I’ve seen or heard from you since last week.” She backed away as he stomped his way onto the porch, stretching her arms wide as though to guard the front door. 

 

“THIS IS MY HOUSE!” he thundered, his face getting perilously close to hers. She cringed as his breath and spittle hit. 

 

“I inherited this house from my dad, you idiot!” she shot back, giving him a push out of her personal space. He pushed back, hard enough that she landed on on bottom. The impact sent a jolt straight to the base of her skull.

 

“You keep trying to turn my kids against me, you frigid fucking bitch!” He stood over her, nostrils flaring, and Joyce finally felt a trickle of cold fear settle into her stomach.

 

“I just called the cops!” she heard Jonathan scream from inside the house. She looked up and over and saw his stony, pale face - so much like her own - glaring from behind the screen.

 

“Lock the door!” Joyce warned, before kicking Lonnie in both shins and pulling herself to her feet. Her husband reeled backwards, the edge of the railing striking him in the spine, and he took a sideways stumble down the short flight of stairs. He looked up at Joyce from his place in the dirt and dust, trembling with rage. 

 

“Mom, get in the house!” Jonathan appeared at her side, and grabbed her right arm with both hands, tugging her to safety before slamming the front door and bolting it. Mother and son gave a violent start when the pounding on the door shook the thin walls of the living room.

 

“I told you to stay with Will,” Joyce scolded as she scurried into the kitchen for a weapon. The goddamn shotgun was in the shed and there was no way she’d be able to make it into the backyard without getting caught. A kitchen knife would have to do.

 

“Will is fine. He’s hiding under the bed - Mom, just stay in the house!” 

 

Joyce shrugged Jonathan’s hand away as he tried to hold her back from heading back onto the porch. “He’s going to break the windows, and those are expensive.”

 

“He’s going to break your face, and you’re more valuable than a fucking window!”

 

“Language!” Joyce cried, turning to her 13 year-old son. 

 

“Priorities! I called the cops, I wasn’t lying about that. They are on their way.”

 

Joyce groaned. “I wish you hadn’t.”

 

“LET ME IN, GODDAMN IT! I JUST WANT TO TALK!” Lonnie screamed through the window. Joyce walked over and dropped the blinds, hiding his fury contorted face from sight. 

 

“He’ll calm down, he always does.” A bit of a lie.

 

“You don’t have to sugar coat things, Mom. I wish you’d just get a divorce so he’d go away forever.”

 

Joyce regarded her oldest with sad eyes, dread twisting at her guts. He was right, and she had often wondered why she never took the final leap. She supposed it was because Lonnie wasn’t always terrible. When he came to her, penitent and broke from gambling or partying, he always seemed to know what to say to make her believe it was the last time. The sex wasn’t bad. Most of the arguments that took place without the boys around usually ended with intense, mind-blowing, rough bouts of passion - but those moments were becoming less frequent and gradually more disappointing. 

 

Then there was the world she and Lonnie had been raised in. People simply did not give up on marriages. Not when Lonnie’s mother was frequently seen around town sporting fresh bruises as she pushed little Lonnie and his sister around in a pram, and not when Joyce’s dad frequently disappeared for months on end with whatever young thing caught his fancy. The only thing that had ended the Calloway marriage had been Joyce’s mother’s death by childbirth. 

 

But times were different. Modern. Joyce knew of several women in town who had gotten divorced. Women with children to raise - well adjusted children who didn’t seem to mind two Christmases and step-parents.

 

Not that Joyce would ever in a million years consider marriage as an option ever again, and knowing Lonnie, the boys wouldn’t get two Christmases - just the measly one Christmas they always got. No weekends at Lonnie’s cool bachelor pad. No peaceful co-parenting. Not while she and Lonnie got on like oil and water, and only one of them seemed to have a vested interest in the boys.

 

“Mom?”

 

Jonathan’s pleading voice shook her out of her reverie. “Sorry.”

 

“The pounding stopped but I don’t hear sirens.”

 

He was right. The house no longer shook with the sound of Lonnie’s fists against the door and windows. It was an eerie, sudden sort of silence that did nothing to calm Joyce’s frazzled nerves. Her throat tightened and her heart began to beat rapidly, like the wings of a bird caught in a snare. She and Jonathan started to make a beeline for the mudroom, until the door to Will’s room creaked open. 

 

“Stay in there, baby!” Joyce shouted over. She gave a sharp gasp when she head the sound of two sets of footsteps padding down the hallway. She and Jonathan headed towards the sound and her blood froze at the sight of Lonnie walking side-by-side with Will, left hand clapped over the small boy’s left shoulder, guiding him toward down the hall.

 

“He said he just wanted to talk, Mom.”  

 

Lonnie gave her a terrible, thin smile that barely reached his cheeks. “That’s right. Will was nice enough to let me in through the window.”

 

Joyce exhaled slowly and stretched a trembling hand towards Will. “Sweetie, please come here.”

 

Will made a move to run to his mother, but the grip on his shoulder pulled him backwards. Lonnie moved his hand from shoulder to bicep, hugging the boy tightly against his side. Will winced against the bruising hold.

 

“You son of a bitch!” Jonathan roared, charging towards his father, with his head down. Joyce tried to grab his arm, but her oldest was too fast. He head-butted Lonnie in the gut, sending the older man sprawling backwards, visibly stunned by the wiry strength evident in Jonathan. He landed on his back with a gasp, shielding his face with crossed arms as Jonathan straddled his middle and began throwing fists. 

 

“Stop! Oh my god, Jonathan… Lonnie!” Joyce rushed forward, past a quietly sobbing Will and pulled the back of Jonathan’s shirt in a feeble attempt to pull him away from his father. 

 

Somehow, in the confusion of the scuffle, Joyce took an elbow to the face that threw her towards the wall. She wasn’t sure who the culprit was until Lonnie was face down on the floor, screaming out apologies as he was being handcuffed by none other than Jim Hopper. Jonathan and Will were immediately at her side, assessing the damage to her face as she tried to vision blurred and brightened. 

 

“I’m okay, I’m okay…” she recited in a numb, distant tone. She sighed when Jim moved away from Lonnie and crouched in front of her, waving the boys away.

 

“Joyce, follow my finger, please.” Joyce’s eyes darted back and forth, following the journey of Jim’s forefinger. She blinked as he leaned forward and scrutinized her pupils. “How do you feel?” 

 

“Like my idiot husband elbowed me in the head,” she groaned. 

 

Jim nodded and leaned back on his haunches. “I think you’ll be okay. Do you want to press charges? You have witnesses. You’d have a case.”

 

Lonnie cried out in protest. 

 

“Shut the fuck up or you won’t make it to the station!” Jim thundered. “Joyce, he broke into your house. Jonathan is going to have a shiner and -” He didn’t get to finish. Joyce was on her feet in an instant.

 

“You motherfucker!” she screamed. It took Jim and Jonathan holding her back to prevent her from delivering a kick to Lonnie’s side.

 

“Easy, easy… let me take care of it, please!” Jim pleaded, pulling her into his arms and stroking her back. She stiffened and relaxed in his arms as he repeated his pleas against her hair. It felt shockingly intimate and strangely right. “Easy, Joycie.”

 

“Get your hands offa my wife, Hopper!”

 

“You need to shut your mouth, Byers!”

 

Joyce did press charges this time. Accident or no, it was the first time one of the boys had gotten caught in the crossfire and that was unacceptable. It occurred to her that she should have considered the times she had gotten bruises and bloody lips from scuffles with Lonnie unacceptable, but she had a hard time thinking of herself as… valuable? Or she could just take her lumps. That was it. She had always been tough.

 

The boys were at Agatha’s, and somehow she was alone in a room with Jim Hopper. Again. 

 

“He won’t be able to make bail. You don’t have to be here,” Joyce stated before taking a sip of her tea. She was sitting at one end of her couch, and Jim at the other, though there wasn’t much of a distance between them given his large, all-encompassing frame as he sat with his legs spread and his back straight as he cradled his own cup of tea. Both cups had the distinct aroma of bourbon, courtesy of Jim.

 

“I know, and I’ll be on my way if that’s what you want. I just needed to be sure that you’re okay.”

 

Joyce furrowed her brow and gave him a crooked half smile. “Why?”

 

He blushed and stammered a bit before setting his cup on the coffee table. “I’m Chief of Police.”

“Is letting upset women sleep in your bed part of the job description?”

 

“It is if you have a long and complicated history or caring about said upset women.”

 

Joyce’s hands tightened around the cup and she found it hard to meet his eyes. She could feel them burning against the side of her face, and if she closed her eyes, she could conjure his exact expression. She had seen it enough when they had been young and in love. 

 

“That was a long time ago, Jim. We were different people.”

 

She heard him clear his throat. “It doesn’t mean I stopped caring, or stopped hurting when you’re hurting. People are allowed to care about you, Joyce.” She felt the couch cushions shift as he pulled himself to his feet. “Thanks for the tea.”

 

Joyce looked up in time to see him scribbling on a notepad. “This isn’t the department number. It’s mine. You can - uh - you can use it if you need it Joyce. I mean it.” He ripped the page and handed the paper to her. A flash of heat and electricity shot up her arm as their fingers brushed when she took it from his hands. 

 

“Sure, Hop.” Her smile was genuine.


	3. And unfolding...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song Joyce sings in this chapter is "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" by The Shirelles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr (it's mostly Jopper prompts and Stranger Things trash!) @starmaammke or my fic blog @strangerthingsfics

 

**Chapter Three**

**And Unfolding...**

* * *

 

 

He bought an answering machine. His reasons for doing so weren’t immediately apparent to him. He was the Chief of Police, he reckoned. It made sense to be make himself available for emergencies. Only a few people in the department had his personal number, though. Even fewer would dare try to contact him when he was off the clock. But just in case, he supposed.

 

This odd, borderline frivolous purchase came about after a week of waiting for Joyce Byers to call him. It had been a long seven days of gazing up towards the phone from his beer and TV dinners. It remained obstinately silent. Stubborn like the woman he certainly wasn’t anticipating a call from. No, sir.

 

Except he  _ had  _ given her his personal number. He never did that for anyone, certainly not for the women he sometimes took home, and not even - come to think of it - most of the surviving members of his family. It was a small, prestigious circle of people, really: His parents, his ex-wife (given out on a drunken whim), his sister, Flo, Powell, Benny, and Joyce. So why wasn’t she calling?

 

Maybe she  _ was  _ calling, but he was never at home in time to hear the phone ring. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. She was always working at the General Store, and sometimes the department had him in the office at odd hours. But if she  _ was _ calling, she didn’t let on when he walked into Donald’s store for the odd purchase. She was always very pleasant, and completely unreadable. Not a word about Lonnie bothering her, or anything else for that matter… but at least with the answering machine, she could leave a message if it was urgent. Or not urgent.

 

He was getting nowhere with this stupid bet. If it had been any other woman, it would have been a done deal. Word around town was that he was smooth - charming even - but damn if she didn’t make him feel like a verbally incontinent moron every time he was in her presence. There was just something in those dark, flashing eyes - in the mocking quirk of her sweet lips - that made him feel like she saw right through him when no one else did. It was likely she did know him better than most. His mother  _ had  _ made them share a bath when they were four - there were pictures to prove it.

 

Why had he made that bet? It was a question he turned over quite a bit. The most logical explanation was because Benny told him it couldn’t be done. His dumb ass never could resist a challenge. Even if, when put under scrutiny, the idea was insulting to Joyce. He wrestled with that guilt more than a few times a day, but couldn’t bring himself to call the whole thing off. He found himself wanting to be near her, wanting to show her that she could rely on him, just plain wanting her. At least with the bet, he could acknowledge that the attraction existed and act on it.

 

But what would come next, after the bodies and the selfishness and the free burgers? In all likelihood, if getting her into bed was a likelihood in and of itself, they would probably go their own way. She was still married, and in the middle of the divorce (he hoped) - the ink had barely dried on his own divorce. People simply didn’t (shouldn’t) go leaping into the next big romance while the ruins of their last ones were still smouldering. It was foolishness.

 

BUT… could he walk away from her? Other women, yes, easily and often - but her?  This was Joyce, after all. The same person who simultaneously mocked him when he fell down and cried as a child and beat up his bullies when he hadn’t yet reached his full height. The same Joyce he had worshipped, taken for granted, worshipped again and lost when they were teenagers. She was the keeper of a million little bits of his history, and he, hers. They weren’t strangers in a bar, ready to forget their troubles in a press of flesh and need.

 

He probably wouldn’t even get to that point anyway, but pondering on the deal with Benny reminded him that he very, very, VERY much wanted to try. If she wanted to walk away, he’d let her - but, if she wanted…

 

No use pondering that. Not ever. 

 

“Might as well just start pardoning Benny’s tickets today,” Jim grumbled as the robotic voice on the answering machine announced that he had absolutely no messages to speak of for the third day in a row. 

 

_ Or,  _ or,  _ you could put in some actual effort; find out what she likes, lend a listening ear, sneak into her house and loosen the bolts on her pipes so you can come over and fix her sink, buy her some chocolate, ask her out on a date, murder her husband… _

 

Chocolates seemed like a good start. Jim wondered if she still liked English toffee and peanut brittle. 

 

He was still mentally cataloguing all the moves he could take in order to further his agenda when he walked into The Hideaway later that night. The thought process was interrupted somewhat when he walked through the door and spied a very large, very drunk man singing his off-key heart out to what sounded vaguely like an Elvis tune. There was a three person live band backing him. 

“Open mic,” Jim groaned as he read the sign on the wall behind the band. Occasionally the bar would host a live band that encouraged patrons to sign up to sign. The band's song catalogs would be placed strategically around the place for perusal. 

 

These nights were usually a mixed bag of decent, hidden talent to something akin to tortured cats with a rockstar complex. Jim tended to avoid these nights, and he would have made a hasty exit if…

 

“Look, Joyce, it's the Chief! HOP!” Karen Wheeler nearly tripped over herself in order to run up to Jim, Joyce trailing behind her with a definite intoxicated sway to her step.

 

“What brings you ladies out to a dump like this?” Jim asked, brow knit in genuine confusion. Both women had a veritable brood between the two of them, and neither seemed the type for The Hideaway, or impulsive nights out - especially not Karen with her rich, fuddy-duddy husband and her cul-de-sac trappings. 

 

“Divorce party!” Karen announced with a great deal of cheer before throwing her arms around Jim. He felt an odd, rapid fluttering in his gut at the news. 

 

“Yours?” He was looking down at Karen with a cheeky grin and got a slap to his chest for his troubles.

 

“Mine, she thinks,” Joyce replied from behind Karen. There was a soft, slurred quality to her tone, and Jim realized that Joyce was not having the best time. 

 

Karen turned to her friend and pulled her into a hug. “Stay strong this time, Joyce. I like you both - you more, obviously- but you're wrong for each other. He'd stay if he wanted to.” 

 

“It's just so expensive and messy,” Joyce complained, extricating herself from the slightly taller woman’s arms. “Hey, Hop.”

 

“Hey,” he grunted, unsure of his place in the conversation. “I guess I'll go find a stool and leave you two-”

 

“You can sit at our table.” Joyce’s offer was flat and soaked with indifference, but Jim couldn’t mistake the soundless ‘please’ on her lips and the flicker of desperation in her wide eyes. He studied Karen. She was trashed, and Jim wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she was being less-than-helpful in her state. 

 

“That's a mighty fine offer, lead the way.”

 

Within minutes, Karen had Jim filled in on the situation. Lonnie was sitting tight in jail (which Jim already knew) and Joyce was preparing to lawyer up, but was having serious reservations. 

 

“He barely contributes as is. If there's jail and a divorce, how will he be any help?” Joyce complained, nursing a shot of whiskey. 

 

“It's not sipping whiskey, Calloway. Karen and I already threw ours back ages ago,” Jim teased. “You've got to go with your gut on this one,” he added, reaching across the table to take one of her small, cold hands between his large, warm ones. “We're not trying to pressure you, but you do have a cop friend willing to put the pressure on if he misses child support payments.”

 

Joyce pulled her hand away and snorted before downing the rest of her whiskey. “Sure thing, Dirty Harry,” she scoffed, glass still brushing her lips. His eyes were drawn to them just as she snaked out the tip of her tongue to catch a drop of amber clinging to one corner of her mouth. The room felt oppressively warm, and it occurred to Jim that nothing would please him more than to catch that plump lower-lip of hers between his teeth. Her confused smile told him that he had stared for too long.

 

“What the hell is going on here tonight?” Jim deflected, pulling an exaggerated face full of disgust at the pitchy rendition of ‘These Arms of Mine’ that filled the room.

 

“Oh, George went to Japan this past summer, and apparently things like this are all the rage,” Karen explained as she signaled for another round of drinks. George owned The Hideaway.

 

“I know what he’s talking about. A buddy of mine explained it to me a few years back; karaoke, only it’s not quite like this set-up. Still, I guess Hawkins needs a little culture, am I right?”

 

Karen rolled her eyes. “Sure, if you can call it that. I see drunks with an audience - hardly a tea ceremony.”

 

“So when are you going up?” Jim teased before dodging another one of Karen’s slaps. He had to act fast to catch her as she fell forward in her seat, knocked off balance by her own efforts.

 

“Don’t be stupid. I thought it would be a nice distraction for Joyce. She loves making fun of things like - Joyce?”

 

Jim turned his attention to Joyce’s now empty chair. 

 

“Oh shit! I drove her, and she’s pretty hammered - what if she tried to walk home?” 

 

They both scanned the bar until they spotted Joyce in the least likely place.

 

“Why is she talking to the house band?” Karen demanded.

 

“Um.”

 

Joyce walked up to the microphone, her eyes cast to the floor and her shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly. Jim could see that she was taking several deep breaths from the way her shoulder lifted and relaxed.

 

“Hop, you don’t think-”

 

_ Tonight you’re mine, completely. You give your love so sweetly… _

 

Joyce had never been a bad singer, but she also never had the confidence to show off in mixed company. Jim had only heard her sing a handful of times when they dated, and somewhere in those instances, this was one of the songs she serenaded him with. The realization made it hard to breathe. They had been so young; both under the assumption that what they had was real, tangible and permanent. She used to look straight into his eyes when she sang - now she looked at the floor, the ceiling, slightly above heads, but never meeting anyones’ gaze. 

 

“Wow, she’s really good.”

 

Jim nodded in agreement without looking back at Karen. “Yeah.”

 

“And I’m glad she’s wearing her hair long. She keeps saying that she’ll cut it off, but I think she looks stunning.”

 

“Joyce can do whatever she wants. She’d look stunning completely bald.” He wondered how those long auburn waves would look like, spread across his pillow. They had never come together in a bed, he realized. It had always been whatever was safe, secret and convenient, which usually meant the back of his old pickup truck. 

 

“Too bad you both aren’t in a better place right now.”

 

Karen’s matter-of-fact statement completely shook Jim out of his reverie.He turned to her with a frown. “How’s that?”

 

She gave him a shrug and a sheepish smile. “You two were the cutest couple back in the day. If you were in a better place, I could absolutely see you both trying again.” 

 

“So, you think it would be a bad idea now?”

 

Another shrug. Jim hoped that was the end of Karen’s commentary, because he really wanted to enjoy the rest of the song. 

 

“You’re both adults.” No such luck.

 

“Yes, we are.”

“And she probably really needs to get laid.”

 

“You’re a good friend.”

 

The music ended, and Joyce did not wait for the applause to end (or even begin) before she hurried away from the band and sat back in her seat. Karen kissed her cheek and hugged her while Jim clapped politely with a broad grin on his face. 

 

“Oh, shut up,” Joyce groaned, covering her face with both hands.

 

Two drinks later and Jim was starting to think that Karen driving Joyce and herself home would not be the wisest course of action. 

 

“I’ll give you both a police escort tonight. Karen, Ted can drive you out here to pick up your car in the morning.”

 

“Probably for the best,” Karen slurred, pulling herself to her feet. She gave Joyce a sly look as she added, “Precious cargo and all that, eh Hop?”

 

“Well yes, Karen. You’re a pillar of the community and Joyce is -”

 

“A cashier!” the tiny brunette announced, self-deprecatingly. 

 

“One hell of a woman,” Jim corrected her as he placed a steadying hand on the small of her back. “And more than a cashier to a lot of people.” The three of them started towards the exit.

 

“To who?” Joyce demanded with a roll of her eyes. She tripped over her own feet. Jim caught her before she could fall to the floor, holding her snug against his side as they walked. 

 

“Don’t fish, Joyce, it isn’t cute,” Karen scolded. “The boys, of course,” she added, hastily.

 

“And to your good friend Karen, obviously. … and me.” Jim felt his face burn at the confession, small thought it was. Joyce gave no indication that she heard him as they approached his Blazer. 

 

Once Karen was safely deposited into the waiting arms of Ted, Jim saw to the task of taking Joyce home.

“Shit. The boys are at Agatha’s,” she groaned, hitting the back of her head against the seat.

 

“Easy. Do you want me to go pick them up for you?”

 

Joyce straightened up in her seat, her eyes large and panicked. “What? No!”

 

She was right. Showing up at her soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law’s house drunk, with a strange man in tow would not be the wisest of choices.

 

“I’m sure she has them in bed already. What’s a few more hours so you can get some peace and quiet?”

 

Joyce nodded as he pulled into her driveway. He could hear the dog bark at his arrival.

 

“It’s dark out there, let me walk you to your door,” he offered, moving to exit the driver’s side.

 

“If you insist,” Joyce sighed. 

 

Once they reached the porch, the automatic light switched on, bathing the space with a dim, yellow glow.

 

“I can come replace these for you if you like,” Jim offered, pointing at the porchlight as they stood in the doorway.

 

“I’m getting pretty good at the DIY, Hop. You really don’t have to.”

 

“But I’d like to.” He found himself leaning slightly forward, the meager distance between them closing incrementally.

 

“I can’t pay you.” She was frowning, but she wasn’t backing away from his advance. She placed two hands on his chest, but didn’t push at him. It was an anchoring maneuver.

 

“I guess you’ll have to feed me.” His hands were making slow, soothing circles on her shoulders.

 

“Not when the boys are around, though. It might confuse them,” she murmured as his hands moved up to cup her face.

“You’re trembling.”

 

She took a sharp intake of breath. “It’s cold.”

 

He bent low to brush his lips against hers. Her mouth was stiff and unyielding, and Jim thought for a moment that he had incorrectly read the room, but he cast those thoughts aside when her arms slid over his shoulders and her mouth softened against his. His hands moved down to her waist to give her a slight boost, and the world melted away when her tongue slipped past his lips. 


	4. Taffy Stuck and Tongue Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruminating on the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is an update, well over a year later! Sorry, I really didn't want to abandon this WIP, and I hope I can get it finished before the end of this summer. Enjoy!

Joyce woke with her head and throat aching, and her mouth so dry she could feel it in her eyeballs. Flashes of the night before replayed, grey and hazy until one final image made her shoot up and look around wildly, her hand groping at the space beside her on the bed. It was cold and undisturbed, not even the faintest impression of another body. 

 

“Okay,” Joyce murmured shakily. She caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror and let out a nervous chuckle. She was still in her clothes from the night before, her hair a nest of tangles and snarls, her eye makeup garish and cartoon-like. With a low, pained groan, she stumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

 

_ If I could make days last forever _

_ If words could make wishes come true _

_ I'd save every day like a treasure and then, _

_ Again, I would spend them with you… _

 

Joyce frowned at the sound of the radio and then water hitting tiles floating down the hall from the bathroom. She felt her heart began to pick up a frantic pace at the sliver of light that shone through the bottom of the bathroom door into the dark hallway. Fear took a stranglehold of her throat as she knocked softly.

 

“Lonnie?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. The deep baritone that sang along with the song on the radio paused abruptly.

 

“Oh, you’re awake! How’re you feeling?” 

 

“Hopper?” 

 

There was a sharp squeak, and the water stopped. Joyce held her breath and hoped against hope that Jim wasn’t going to open the door stark naked. She took a step back as the door opened to reveal a very wet, very shirtless Jim Hopper with a very small towel wrapped around his not-so-small waist. He smelled of her green apple shampoo and plain soap, and fact that made her head swim ever-so-slightly as he grinned down at her.

 

“You look like hell,” he teased.

 

“Did we… ?” Joyce squinted against the harsh light of the bathroom. There was no mistaking the flash of disappointment that momentarily pulled down at the corners of his cocky grin, furrowed his brow and dimmed the lights in his eyes. 

 

“No, of course not. I may have a reputation, but I don’t go around taking advantage of women who are too drunk to walk; I held your hair so you could throw up in the sink and then I put you to bed. You need a new couch, by the way - that one is lumpy as hell.”

 

“You got comfy couch money? ‘Cuz I don’t,” Joyce snapped, irritably. “Thanks for taking care of me last night,” she added before brushing past him so she could wash her face at the sink. 

 

“Umm… I wasn’t done using the shower.”

 

Joyce was half-tempted to tell him that there was nothing stopping him from continuing his shower, and a breath away from asking if she could join. She could not remember much from the night before, but the feel of his lips against hers, and the way he held her fast and close before they broke away, breathless and charged with an electric sort of want, was scorched in her memory. 

 

But she was married. Separated but not divorced. The disapproving face of her tiny, Roman Catholic grandmother appeared in her head, causing her blood to run cold and proper guilt made her stomach sour as she dried her face, gave Jim a withering look, and told him to not use up all of her hot water before fleeing the bathroom to the kitchen so she could put the kettle on and fix up a plate of dry toast. 

 

_____________

 

“Wait a minute, you had another sleepover, but nothing happened?” Benny chuckled and took a long pull from his bottle of Blatz. “Fuck sake, man. That’s not how you win bets.”

 

Jim lit a cigarette, smoke still snaking from his previous one as it lay crumpled in the ashtray. The diner was empty, and the pair were having their typical after hours chat, a long lunch that had turned into an early day. He was sure Flo was furious, but there was fuck-all to do at the station and he didn’t anticipate any unexpected crime waves to pop up in his absence. He had a mind to be irritated with his friend, but the Tuinal was setting in nice and mellow-like. 

“She could barely keep her eyes open she was so wasted. What kind of an asshole do you think I am?” There was no vitriol in his tone, it was a sincere question. 

 

Benny shrugged. “Good on ya, man. I didn’t know she was as tanked as all that. So… not even a peck on the cheek then?”

 

Jim snorted, marvelling at how much his friend sounded like one of the old gossips at the local retirement home. “No, not even a peck on the cheek.” Later, when he was sober, he would wonder why he lied, why he was so protective of that brief, sweet moment on the porch; the feel of her small, warm frame flush against him and the happy little sighs she made when his lips rediscovered that sensitive spot behind her ear. If anything, it would have been an opportunity to crow about his progress, but Jim tucked it away, securing it in a little box in the back of his mind, happy to take it out and ruminate on it for years to come. 

 

“Better luck next time, I guess.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

_________

 

“Joycie, now listen to me; the boys need their fa--”

 

“Agatha, I can’t believe you right now!” Joyce groaned as she stood in the foyer of Agatha Byers’ tidy little Victorian. Lonnie was standing off in the next room, just visible over his mother’s shoulder,  leaning against the the entryway to the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest and a penitent look on his face. Jonathan and Will were standing close to their mother’s side, their faces carrying twin looks of misery over what was unfolding. 

 

“Joyce, lay offa my mom, will ya?”

 

“You shut up! Agatha, I can understand you posting his bail because he’s your son, but letting him into your home and not telling me, especially when I bring my sons over to visit?! This is… this is beyond!” Joyce was fired up, her chest fit to burst and her breath coming out in labored gasps. 

 

“Mom, you’re going to have a panic attack,” Jonathan mumbled, caressing her back with comforting little circles. “Let’s just get out of here.”

 

“He gave your grandson a black eye, did you know that? Of course you did, just look at him!” Joyce ignored Jonathan’s warnings, waving an arm in the direction of his face, still badly bruised. 

 

Agatha let out a heavy sigh, and turned to her son with a withering glance. “He’s not perfect but he’s the only father they have.”

 

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Joyce spat out. “Come on boys, we’re leaving.” She started to usher her children through the front door before she turned her icy gaze onto Lonnie. “I’m getting a restraining order and filing for divorce; if you come anywhere near my house, I’ll… “ She took note of the fearful look Will gave her and changed her tune. “... let the police handle it.”

 

“I’m sure you will. We all know you’ve got Hopper in your pocket. Wonder how you managed that…”

 

“Keep walking, Mom,” Jonathan urged, placing a guiding hand on her back as Will opened the door and they stepped outside. 

 

“Who’s Hopper?” Will asked as they headed towards the car.

 

“The angry man who arrested Dad.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Joyce desperately wanted to divert the conversation. She knew all too well the implication in Lonnie’s parting shot and it rankled her as she settled into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go to the movies. We can see anything, and you can get all the junk you want.”

 

“Seriously?” Jonathan asked, his face beaming. “Even ‘Alien’?”

 

“I wanna see ‘The China Syndrome’!” Will chirped.

 

Joyce chuckled and shook her head. “The Hawk is playing ‘The Muppet Movie’,” she announced, fully expecting to hear moans of protest over The Muppets being for kids.

 

“Yeah, let’s do that, Mom,” Jonathan nodded.

 

“Yeah! The Muppets are cool.”

 

She grinned to herself as she thought, not for the first time, that she had the best kids.

  
  
  


_________

 

A movie alone, that wasn’t sad was it? 

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking sad,” Jim Hopper mumbled as he made his way to the sidewalk queue in front of The Hawk. A part of him wanted to call Joyce, to see if she wanted to come out on the town with him, but it felt wrong, somehow - especially knowing that Lonnie’s mom had bailed him out, and that Joyce would certainly be in a foul mood after finding out. Definitely poor timing for a little romance. Anyway, Jim was crawling out of his skin at home; there was nothing on television, and the urge to go to the cabin and pore through New York momentos was so strong, he could feel it pulling at his chest. Those moments never ended in good decisions. A big tub of buttery popcorn, a giant Coke and Jane Fonda, though? Always the best choice.

 

“Hey mom, it’s the angry policeman!” Jim gave a start when a little pip of a voice chimed in further up the line. He scanned the faces until his gaze landed on Joyce and her brood. He caught the way her eyes widened when they made contact, the shy way she bit her lower lip. Her oldest boy waved and then signaled for him to move up towards them. There was no avoiding her now. With a shrug he got out of line and headed for the trio. 

 

“Awful rude to cut in line,” Joyce teased when he approached. 

 

“Yeah well, I’m the Chief, so…”

 

“Thanks for saving my mom!” Little Will chirped. Jim’s heart ached when he realized the boy had to be the same age as Sarah would’ve been. He was a cute little shit, the mirror image of Joyce at that age. The oldest was going through an awkward phase, but he, too, was more Joyce than Lonnie. 

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Jonathan added. Jim gave the boy’s hair a good natured ruffling.

 

“Hell of a shiner. Makes you look tough.”

 

“Oh, Hopper, come on--”

 

“Thanks!” 

 

“You were pretty tough back there, protecting your mom. I’ve got alotta respect for you, and maybe a few notes about your fighting style.”

 

“We’re not teaching my boys how to fight,” Joyce protested. 

 

Jim shook his head. “Of course not.”

 

“Good.”

 

Will tugged at Jim’s arm and he focused his attention on the young man. “What’s up kid?”

 

“What are you seeing?”

 

“‘China Syndrome’.”

 

The boy’s face fell. “Oh.”

 

Jim caught the disappointment. “I could be convinced to watch ‘The Muppet Movie’, though.”

 

Joyce laughed, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “Oh yeah?”

 

“If you’ll have me. I know I’m kinda lame for going to the movies by myself, but I promise I won’t cramp your style.”

 

“Of course you can come with us!” Will decided with a bright grin. Three pairs of eyes looked to Joyce for confirmation.

 

“Majority rules, I guess.”


	5. I am ready, I am ready, I am ready I am...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rating is earned.

It would be all too easy, Jim decided as he studied Joyce's profile, illuminated by the cheerfully gaudy colors of the film. She was smiling and chuckling softly at the madcap antics of the Muppets, and that smile weaved its way into the impenetrable, choking knot of loss in his throat, loosening it in tiny, almost imperceptible increments.  It would be all too easy to get lost in her smile and her laughter and let the knot loosen for good.

 

He gave a little start when one of her small, cool hands rested on his shoulder, her large doe eyes focusing on his face, a wry half-smile quirking one corner of her lips.

 

“The movie is over there, you creep,” she whispered. Her tone was light and teasing, matching the flirty little gleam in her eyes.

 

“I'm just gonna stare until you pass me the gosh darn Coke,” he shot back, cleaning up his language in deference to the children sitting to Joyce's left. Will shushed the pair.

 

“I like this song,” the small boy whispered as Kermit began to sing about rainbows and yearnings.

 

“Sorry, kiddo,” Jim apologized, slipping an arm around Joyce's shoulder. To his astonishment, she didn't pull away. She had every reason to; The Hawk was a public place, with optimal visibility for gawkers who had nothing better to do than gossip about the Chief of Police cutting in line to be near Lonnie Byers’ strange bird of a wife and her odd little ducklings. 

 

Joyce's hair smelled sweet and was soft against his face as he inhaled wistfully before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. The rest of the world be damned, Jim thought to himself, life was too damn short - Sara had been proof enough of that.

 

After the movie ended, Jim found himself wistful over the fact that his little outing with the Byers’ family was coming to a close. He looked over as Jonathan and Will worked together to put their trash into the empty popcorn tub, under the watchful eye of their mother, and an idea tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. 

 

“Let's go to Benny's for some malts.” 

 

Will’s face lit up at the prospect, and Jonathan’s eyes twinkled, but he kept his enthusiasm to a little half smile as both boys looked to their mother for silent permission. 

 

“That's money that we--"

 

“My treat.” Jim knew right away that the offer was ineffective, but something in the two boys’ open, pleading faces caused a muscle in Joyce’s cheek to twitch as she let out an exasperated sigh. 

 

“I think I have enough to cover it. Let's go get sugared up at Benny's.”

 

______

 

Joyce wondered how much it still hurt, losing a daughter and getting put through a divorce in such rapid succession. If the fact that Sara would now be near to Will’s age, give or take a few months, was a wrench, Jim didn't let on as he listened intently to her youngest as he prattled on about Star Wars, his face smeared with hot fudge. 

 

“And then the Death Star blew up!” Will puffed up his cheeks and made a loud explosive noise, his hands gesturing so wildly his spoon flew from his hands and clattered loudly behind the counter after ricocheting off the wall and nearly pegging Benny in the forehead. Joyce quickly offered apologies, as did Will, but both Jim and Benny were stifling laughter at Will’s enthusiasm.

 

“That sounds pretty amazing. I know Sara was looking forward to seeing it.” 

 

The oxygen in the room seemed to be sucked out at once, along with the conversation. Benny, Will and Jonathan were all studying Jim with expressions that showcased varying degrees of grim curiosity. Joyce smiled weakly as Jim seemed to realize what he had said, the corners of his mouth drooping downwards as he sniffed and then drew a deep, quavering sort of breath. Joyce reached across the counter to cover one large slightly trembling hand, with her own; small, steady, and comforting.

 

“I'm sure she would've. I loved it and I'm too old and dumb to understand that space junk. Science was the one subject you never tried to copy offa me, remember?”

 

Jim’s face instantly brightened as he chuckled and placed his other hand over Joyce's, gently trapping the small and fine-boned source of comfort between his paws. 

 

“God no, not when there was a perfectly good Bob the Brain nearby.”

 

Joyce snorted, biting her bottom lip as a shamed blush rose to her cheeks. “I may have peeked in the direction of his quizzes every so often.” She coughed when Will and Jonathan gave her mortified looks. “Only once in a while. I was good at Biology, terrible at Chemistry.”

 

“Your Mom and Ole Hop were really good at Chemistry, if I recall,” Benny chimed in, handing a napkin to Will before pointing and gesturing towards the area around the boy’s mouth. Joyce’s face felt so hot she was sure her skin had started to peel, glaring at Benny has he had the audacity to wink in her and Jim’s direction.

 

“You have no way of knowing that,” Jim shot back. He focused his attention on Will and Jonathan. “He has no way of knowing that; he never came to class.” This tidbit was rewarded with gales of laughter from Jonathan and Will, and a snicker from Joyce that was muffled against her palms. 

 

“Ha ha ha; now finish up and scram, so I can enjoy my end of shift night--” Jim cut Benny off with a loud clearing of his through, jerking his head towards Joyce and the boys. Joyce took note, rolled her eyes and snorted derisively. 

 

“ -- sundae,” Benny finished with a nervous chuckle. “Are you joining me, Hop? The cherries are imported from Kentucky.”

 

To Joyce’s surprise, Jim shook his head. “Nah, I have to stop eating so many sweets on a work night. Makes my head fuzzy in the morning.”

 

“Right. Well, settle up soon, would ya?”

 

After another battle about who was paying for what, Benny eventually boomed that everything was on the house and shuffled the group into the parking lot and locked the doors behind them. The boys looked up at their mother and Jim, with twin expressions of nervous expectation as the adults looked around the parking lot; Joyce wringing her hands, and Jim shifting his weight from one leg to another. No one spoke for a long while as the sun began to set, giving the sky a pleasant, orangey glow. 

 

“Well, I should go,” Jim spoke finally. Joyce’s head jerked in his direction, her brows knitting together as she struggled to find the appropriate words and reconcile her sudden disappointment at his announcement.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Come visit soon, okay?” Will interjected. “Mom, do you have some paper and a pen in your purse?”

 

“Why?” 

 

“So you can give the Chief your number!”

 

Jonathan elbowed his brother in the side. “Buddy, that’s not cool,” the boy muttered, his pale cheeks turning red as he averted his eyes from his mother and Jim. 

 

“Why? He’s fun. Why can’t he be our friend?”

 

Jim roared with laughter, startling the trio, before reaching down to ruffle Will’s shaggy brown hair. “I’d be happy to be your friend. I actually have your mother’s number at the station, but--” he dug into his pocket for his wallet and opened it. Joyce raised an eyebrow when she noticed several scraps of paper among the cash, Jim plucked one out, scanned it quickly, and then handed it down to Will. “Here’s mine. It’s not the station number either.”

 

“Oh wow, thanks!”

 

“Yeah, thanks, I think I misplaced your number the last time you gave it,” Joyce remarked in a low, suspicious tone. The scraps of paper in his wallet rankled her something sharp, and she wanted to go home so she could deal with the whys of her sudden sourness. “Well, we’d better be off, it’s practically bed time. Good night, Hop. Thanks for joining us.”

 

“‘Night Joyce. Boys.”

 

“‘Night Chief!” Will and Jonathan chorused as they followed their mother to the car. 

 

“Mom, are you okay? You’re walking awful fast,” Jonathan inquired once they caught up with her by the car. 

 

“Just tired, sweetie. Get in.”

 

________

 

“Stupid,” Jim breathed as he walked through the front door of his trailer and slapped his wallet onto the surface of the dining room table before heading to the Frigidaire for a cold beer. 

 

“Already gave out your number, and she didn't use it, now you just look sad,” Jim scolded himself as he settled onto his beat up couch, propping his back against one armrest and stretching out his long, denim-clad legs. 

 

“Shit,” he grumbled before taking a long, indulgent pull from the can. He was a goner for sure, and it went beyond his and Benny's idiotic, insulting bet. He wanted all of her, and everything that came with her; the kids, the drafty little house, the puppy that Will had told Jim he had begged and begged for until it turned up on the side of the road, muttish, dirty and injured from what Joyce believed was an ejection from a moving car. Damned ugly dog, poor little dummy, Jim wanted to care for him too. 

 

His mind wandered to the piece of paper tacked to the wall of Benny's office, right next to his food and beverage license.  _ Joyce Byers, married and mother of two, must be seduced by no later than… _

 

That wouldn't do at all. Jim pulled himself to his feet and headed towards the telephone, intent on telling Benny to call it all off. It wasn't that he was going to stop pursuing Joyce, he just wanted to do it with a clean slate. 

 

The phone rang before he could reach it, his heart hammering curiously against his ribs as he tried to suss out who it could possibly be, and hoping against hope that it was who he thought it was. 

 

“Hey Hop.” 

 

Hallelujah. 

 

Jim exhaled shakily, a grin pulling at the corners so tight his cheeks hurt. “H-hey, Joyce. Wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon.”

 

“Well, you only gave me your number twice. I wouldn't want you wasting precious scraps of paper.”

 

Oh. She has noticed the others in his wallet. It was a bit of a time saver in the beginning, scribbling his number down on multiples pieces of paper and handing it out like parade candy; however, once he decided he didn't really want his conquests calling him the next day, he stopped being so generous with his personal information. He was also terrible at throwing things away. 

 

“Now, Joyce, I think you've got the wrong idea about--"

 

“Kids are going to be asleep in an hour.”

 

Jim inhaled through his nose and let a long exhale escape through his mouth. His cheeks burned as he absentmindedly rubbed one bristly cheek. “Uh-huh.”

 

“They sleep like the dead… maybe you want to…” she trailed off and for a long while he heard nothing but dead silence on the other end. 

 

“Joy?” Jim thought maybe her childhood nickname would snap her out of her reverie and bring her to the point.

 

“Come over. But in an hour. Will won't be able to sleep if he sees you're back.”

 

The invitation had a dizzying effect, so much so that Jim had to anchor himself by placing one hand on his kitchen counter as the blood rushed to his ears. 

 

“Oh, so I was a big hit with the kids?”

 

“A kid. Jonathan is... “

 

“Hard to read? Brooding like that Heathcliff guy you kept trying to push on me? Listen, I read that comic strip a few times and I just don’t see it.” He gave a relieved little sigh, his stomach unclenching a bit when he heard her snort and then giggle. Knowing he could make her laugh with a stupid little joke killed the drum-tight tension that stretched between the previously stilted conversation. Even though there was a slight chance that Joyce’s invitation was sexual, or at the bare minimum, cordial, it had come off solemn as a funeral sermon. He wasn’t one to judge, he was out of practice too. He hadn’t made a sober pass at anyone since…

 

Not the time to think of Diane. Compartmentalize. Compartmentalize.

 

“‘Hard to read’ is accurate, and more brooding by the day. Anyway, I feel like there’s some things we should talk about and I found one of Lonnie’s nice bottles of liquor so we should drink that out of spite so it’s not such an awkward conversation.”

 

Huh. Well, he wasn’t the only one with an ex in the back of their mind in one way or another, then. She obviously wanted to talk about the kiss, but the forced calm, and the flat inflection she used to deliver the news told him that maybe the conversation wouldn’t go the way he wanted. Either way, he would tell Benny to rip up the bet… with bonus traffic violation forgiveness to ensure that it was done.

 

“I always relish the opportunity to put Lonnie’s nose out of joint, even metaphorically.”

 

Another soft laugh, another instance of his internal dread lessening by a tiny, foolish degree. 

 

“So… you’ll come?”

 

“With bells on.”

 

__________

 

“What are you doing. What are you doing? What are you doing!” Joyce ranted as she trod a frantic but soft path, back and forth, along the front porch. There was a slight chill in the air, but she didn’t notice as her mind raced and she worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. 

 

“Shit. What are you doing?” What  _ was  _ she doing, calling her ex-boyfriend over in the dead of night in a house she still technically shared with her technical husband. Inviting him over after what? Feeling jealous over the possibility that she wasn’t the only person getting his phone number? That was just common knowledge around these parts anyway.

 

God, it had been so long since she had sex. Years? Yes, years. The last time Lonnie made a pass and Joyce was simply too horny to beg off and say she had a headache, he had had trouble… well… he couldn’t ‘rise to the occasion’. Then he disappeared for a few weeks, returning smugly to tell her that it must’ve been her. 

 

She hoped the invitation had sounded sexy. Joyce literally had no idea how to make her voice do “the thing" that sent men flocking to her. Never had. Once, Lonnie informed her that her come hither sounded like Katherine Hepburn, but assured her that that wasn't a good thing.

 

Ugh, and she told Jim they had to talk about the kiss. Joyce replayed her choice of words and cringed. She told him drinking would make it easier… fuuuuuuuck. What must he think? Was he even going to show? Damn, damn, damn--

 

Joyce's self-flagellation was interrupted when she was nearly blinded by twin beams of light as Jim's truck pulled into her long driveway. She immediately stopped pacing, hugging herself to keep from shivering and ducking her head so he wouldn't notice her deep blush. This stance was, apparently, the wrong one.

 

“What happened?” Jim demanded, looking around wildly as he emerged from the driver's side. “Is Lonnie here? I swear to God, I'll--"

 

“Lower your voice,” Joyce hissed, pushing at his chest as he tried to barge past her towards the front door. “No one is here but the boys and you and me.” She allowed Jim's eyes to rake over her form, for his hands to cup her face as he searched for signs of injury. “I'm fine, you idiot. Nothing has happened!” 

 

It sure was nice to be held, though. Jim's heart beat a frantic pattern against Joyce's ear when he pulled her into a tight embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist, bringing her hands up to rub soothing circles against the broad expanse of his back. His flannel was soft against her cheek - that, mixed with the warmth of his body was enough to make her almost drowsy as they held each other.

 

“You okay, Hop?” Joyce inquired after awhile. She sighed audibly when his lips found the top of her head. 

 

“Yeah. You just looked so wounded and scared when I showed… I thought someone had made you that way and I went into hero mode for a second. Hope I didn't wake the boys.”

 

Joyce was usually unmoved and, frankly, insulted when people felt the need to ‘save her’, but something in Jim's visceral reaction to her being in possible danger struck a palpable, dizzying chord deep in her belly. She lifted her gaze, her chin resting on his chest. He was, likewise, looking down at her with an intense and unfathomable expression - she thought she could discern some fondness in his eyes, but it had been so long since a man had…

 

“I don’t think you did,” she finally assured him, before sighing lightly and leaning into his touch as one big hand slid up to cup her cheek. Who cares if he makes other women feel like this on a semi-weekly basis, she thought with the slightest sting of bitterness. What does it matter when it feels so--

 

“You wanted to talk about the night on the porch?” Jim inquired, lowly, his other hand sliding to the back of her head, his long fingers threading through her hair to lightly massage her scalp. Joyce shivered, her eyes growing heavy. She felt herself rocking slightly on the balls of her feet, as if working up to the moment where she would have to stand on her tiptoes in order to kiss him again.

 

This is happening too fast, the treacherous voice in the dark, anxious corner of her mind hissed. Pull back before you fall in. 

 

“I feel like we’re getting close to being on the same page over it,” Joyce announced, suddenly, pulling out of his embrace and stepping back. She attempted a casual little grin, even as her self-doubt manifested physically in the faint tremor in her bottom lip. “But I promised you a nightcap, didn't I?”

 

Jim scoffed and ran hand over the back of his neck as he shrugged. There was visible color, high in his cheeks, and Joyce detected a flash of annoyance in his furrowed brow. 

 

“Alcohol isn't necessary to the ‘enjoying Joyce's company’ experience, but if you're offering…”

 

Joyce nodded, a frantic little jerk back and forth as she hid a shy smile behind one hand. “Do you want to come in?”

 

“I do, actually.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

Jim's words came out in a confused questioning tone, and after a gap in the conversation, which flummoxed Joyce until she realized she was standing directly in front of the door and making no move to take the initiative and usher him in. 

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly, turning to open the door. “Come on, then.”

 

Joyce thanked Jesus and all the angels that she had seen fit to tidy up. The house, while not the sty it usually was when Lonnie was in the picture, had previously appeared as though a harried mother and two young boys inhabited within. Joyce had talcum powdered and vacuumed the living room carpet, hid the contents of the ‘Laundry Chair’ in the mudroom, and had done enough dishes for the kitchen to appear as though they had only recently finished a meal but had run out of time to rinse the last remaining plates and utensils. So, manageable chaos. 

 

“Have a seat,” Joyce offered, waving a hand towards the couch. Lonnie’s prize bourbon stood on the coffee table, flanked by two tumblers. 

 

Jim settled in, absently rubbing his hands against his knees as Joyce set to pouring the dark liquid into each glass. She was sure she was overfilling them, but Jim made no indication that he cared; in fact, she could feel his gaze burning against the back of her neck, hyper focused on her, rather than the alcohol. His fingers brushed against hers as she passed him the glass, too soft and  intimate a caress to be unintentional. 

 

“You changed your clothes,” Jim observed when Joyce sat to the right of him, nursing her glass in two, cautious hands as the liquid threatened to slosh over the sides and into her lap. Joyce had, in fact, changed into a dark blue, knee length dress. It wasn't anything fancy, just one of her light, flowy numbers she had owned since her early twenties. The lace on edge of the bell sleeves was slightly frayed from nervous fingers, and the pattern of violets and bluebells masked a number of tiny stains, but it was comfortable and it made her feel pretty. She had taken a moment to put her hair up in a loose bun atop of her head. Karen always told her that when a lady puts her hair up, it displays the neck, and naturally makes men wish they could kiss said neck. Joyce often wondered how it would feel to have Jim’s beard whisper across her sensitive flesh…

 

“I guess I did,” she murmured, eyes fixed on the glass between her hands, before giving him a shy, sideways glance. “You trimmed your beard.” He smelled like aftershave and a woodsy and leather sort of cologne. She found herself scooting closer, wanting very much to bask in the decidedly masculine scent.

 

“You look good,” Jim blurted out, eliciting a soft gasp from Joyce. She bit her lip and smiled at him. They were tipping towards something irreversible, neither of them sipping from their drinks as they observed one another. 

 

“Oh, I…”

 

“You’d look good wearing anything, and you do, I just - the dress reminds me of another time, and it- I - uh… a time.”

 

“A time with a little less baggage, maybe?” She leaned towards him and boldly placed a comforting hand on his knee, her thumb rubbing circles against the denim. His hand was heavy, warm and rough as it covered the top of hers, bringing her movements to a halt.

 

“When you said we’re on the same page about that night, what did you mean?” Jim inquired, setting his drink back onto the coffee table so he could place a free hand on the side of her neck. His pinky brushed against the free tendrils on the back of her neck, and Joyce felt an electric little shiver run down her spine at the contact. It had been so long - so very, very long. 

 

“Wh-what do you think?” Joyce stammered, her cheeks burning. That feeling that they were hurtling towards the point of no return at breakneck speed had returned. Her pulse raced, and her heart was pounding so loudly she could feel it thrumming against her ear drums. 

 

“I think I want you.”

 

Another gasp followed by a strained whimper escaped Joyce’s lips as she blinked rapidly and processed the information. “Alright,” she managed to squeak out.

 

“Maybe more than I should, considering what you’re going through right now.”

 

“What I’m going… Oh, Lonnie.”

 

Jim withdrew his hand and scooted away from her, so that her hand fell from his knee. With a low, grunt, he plucked his drink from the table and took a long pull. The loss of contact left Joyce cold, anxious, and internally screaming at herself for being so stupid. Who wants to hear a woman’s husband’s name right after a confession like that.

 

“It’s probably shitty timing, is what I’m saying,” Jim grumbled. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, offering the pack to Joyce before taking out one of his own. They smoked in silence for a while. 

 

“Did you think about timing with the others?” Joyce asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.

 

“What?” Jim’s interrogative came out sharp and harsh, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose as he glared. He looked all the world like some sort of furious demon. 

 

“The ones the papers in your wallet are for.”

 

“Jesus, Joyce. I thought about forgetting with the ‘others’. You - you’re…”

 

“Don’t say different. It’s such a line.”

 

“Not to me!” Jim barked, angrily stubbing out his cigarette. He started to pull himself to his feet, but Joyce grabbed his sleeve and tugged, urging him back. 

 

“Can we just dial back to the part where you said you want me? Let’s leave the other stuff for later.” She gave him a wide, pleading look, her lower lip pouting ever-so-slightly. 

 

“Fuck,” Jim muttered, as he settled back into his seat. In one fluid movement, he managed to pull Joyce onto his lap, cupping her face before bringing her lips crashing down against his.  

 

\----------

 

Leaving it for later, Jim thought hazily as Joyce straddled his lap and moaned against his mouth. He didn't know where to put his hands, so they roamed aimlessly; cupping her cheeks, sliding down her neck, fisting at the cotton material at her back, resting and then caressing her exposed thighs as her dress rode up her hips. Her lips were so soft and her tongue ignited a thousand little fires under his skin as it darted into his mouth, whispering against his own. He was starving for her, licking into her with greed and want.

 

“Hopper,” she whimpered as he dragged his teeth against the pale column of her throat, his hands sliding up her dress, over her flat tummy and prominent ribs, coming to rest over her bare breasts. The fact that she was sans bra made his cock painfully hard as it twitched against the growing heat behind the layers of cotton. 

 

“Mmm?” he inquired as his thumbs circled her tight nipples. 

 

“God, that feels - ah! - amazing, but my kids watch Saturday morning cartoons on this couch. Let's go to my room.”

 

Jim stood, taking Joyce in his arms like a bride as he attempted to kiss and carry at the same time. This resulted in Joyce knocking over a picture frame in the hallway with her foot. 

 

“Shit!” she hissed. They paused for a moment, listening for any sounds of stirring within Jonathan and Will’s respective rooms. Satisfied that the clatter had not pulled the boys from their sleep, Jim opened Joyce's bedroom door, locking it behind him, before carrying her to the bed and laying her down, gently before resting on his haunches at her feet so he could admire the beautiful dishevel their hasty passion had wreaked on her lovely form. Her hair was almost entirely unbound,her lips were red and slightly swollen, and his beard had left little red traces along her neck. 

 

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured with a grin, making her snort derisively, though her eyes were soft. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from exertion and excitement, and Jim would have happily spent the whole night admiring the way she looked at that very moment, except... 

 

“Hey, Hop. Take off your clothes.”

 

He obeyed her in a thrice, giving no thought to drawing out the disrobing process for the sake of sexiness. She sat and observed him with heavy lidded eyes, her tongue snaking out to wet her bottom lip when he pulled off his boxer brief. He could have sang with relief when he cock sprang free if its limiting confines. 

 

“That for me?” she asked in an exaggeratedly sexy tone that made him laugh, suddenly. Joyce shushed him, a frown creasing her brows. “I don’t know what’s so damn funny,” she groused.

 

Jim crawled back into bed until he was hovering over her, he bent low to capture her mouth with his - her lips were pressed in a stubborn line, and he nudged at them with his nose in an attempt to coax them apart. “Yes, it’s all for you. I didn’t mean to laugh, Joyce… you’re sexy as hell.” Eventually, her lips parted and the corners tugged upwards into a little smile. 

 

“Stop,” she cooed, finally returning his beseeching little kisses. 

 

Soon, Joyce’s dress and panties joined Jim’s clothing on the floor at the foot of the bed, and he was kissing a path from the inside of one knee up to mid-thigh, where he nipped at the tender flesh, causing her to wriggle and sigh. 

 

“You smell delicious,” he groaned before burying his face between her thighs and parting her nether lips with a pointed tongue. She bucked against him almost immediately, so he placed anchoring hands on her hips as he continued to lick and devour her dripping center, the sound of her cries muffled by her thighs as they pressed against her ears. Jim thought he could happily die getting drunk off of her taste and scent as his nose rubbed against her clit as he fucked her with his tongue. 

 

Soon, he felt her thighs begin to tremble, and the grip of her fingers through his hair became painful as her hips rose and fell in an increasingly erratic motion. He put his focus on licking flat against her clit as two fingers pumped inside of her. His name sounded like a breathless litany as she keened and gasped out her completion. His fingers and face were soaked with her juices, and he nearly came right then and there when she pulled him back to her lips and licked the evidence from his face, mouth, and fingers. 

 

“You’re a fucking wonder,” Jim breathed as he watched Joyce dig into the drawer of her bedside table to search for what he assumed was a condom. He spooned her as she perused, using one hand to cover and play with one of her full breasts, and the other to cup her sex, his middle finger teasing at her swollen little nub. He rubbed his aching cock against her bottom, and bit at her shoulder when she began to moan once more.

 

“I can’t find anything when you do that,” Joyce gasped before locating a condom wrapped in silver foil. “Aha!” she crowed, turning in his arms to face him. 

 

“Brilliant,” he murmured against her lips. They kissed slow and deep as she tore the wrapped and reached between them, drawing a sharp gasp from Jim as she took him between her hands and stroked before unrolling the condom over his cock. He growled and rolled onto his back, so that she was straddling him. He couldn’t help but stare up at awe as she lifted her hips and lowered herself onto his cock with a gasp, her hair wild and her neck, breasts, tummy and thighs bearing evidence of his kisses. 

 

“I forgot how big you--”

 

“Just take your time,” he gasped as she tentatively began to rock against him. They proceeded slowly, his hands resting at her waist as she rode him like a gentle wave. She was tight and hot against his cock, and for a moment, he mourned not being able to feel all of her around him. Not the time or the place, he scolded himself. The last thing she would need is an Oops Baby in the middle of a messy divorce.

 

“Ah, fuck,” Joyce hissed as she increased her pace, circling her hips as he thrusted upwards. She placed two hands on his shoulders, anchoring herself as their movements became fast and relentless. He could tell by her cries that she was fast approaching another climax, and he shushed her when she gave out a strangled scream.

 

“I c-can’t h-help--” he cut her off by maneuvering her onto her back, covering her mouth with a big hand as he fucked into her with considerable force. She clenched around him hard at the gesture, and his balls became soaked with the evidence of her completion. The fact that she had been put over the edge by his hand over her mouth made his balls tighten and tingle, and he pulled her legs around his waist so he could be deeper, losing himself inside of her as he viciously pursued his own completion. He emptied himself with a hoarse cry that he muffled against her shoulder, his cum shooting out in thick, hot spurts, before he rolled onto his back, unwilling to crush her under his exhausted weight.

 

They took a moment to catch their breath before Joyce snuggled against his side. He could feel her shoulders shake with breathless laughter, and he looked down at her with a frown.

 

“Oops,” she gasped with a sheepish grin that he returned before pressing a kiss against her sweaty forehead.

 

___________

 

“You can stay here for one night, but only because my immortal soul and whatnot,” Benny muttered, as he and a heavily intoxicated Lonnie Byers stumbled into his office at the restaurant. Benny had found Lonnie wandering the back roads, stoned, incoherent, and taking long pulls out of a handle of cheap whiskey. They had been friends in High School, but lines had been drawn when the bastard started dating Joyce. Still, it wasn’t right to let the idiot die in a ditch, not when he had two boys that might, possibly miss him, or at the very least, miss his piddling contribution to the household.

 

“‘Thanks, buh-buddy,” Lonnie slurred, throwing himself on the couch.

 

“Just be gone in the morning,” Benny grumbled, before leaving and shutting the door behind him. Benny reckoned he’d sleep in his car, not fully trusting that Byers wouldn’t rob him blind.

 

Lonnie sat for a moment, getting his bearings as he looked around the unfamiliar room. There was a bottle of water on Benny’s desk, and Lonnie stumbled towards it, his throat parched. He blinked at the wall behind the desk, the words on various certificates blurring and coming back into focus until one document made him pause. He had noticed Joyce’s name on it at first glance, and he willed his brain to read, confused as to why his wife’s name would be on a framed document. 

 

“Jimmy, you bad boy.” 


	6. Pull Me Out From Inside...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce and Jim bask in the honeymoon phase of their new arrangement. 
> 
> Lonnie does what Lonnie does best.
> 
> The calm before the storm.

"If we want to be discreet, I should probably high-tail it outta here,” Jim murmured even as every muscle in his body screamed for rest. His eyelids felt like they weighed 50 pounds each. Joyce was still snug at his side, and when he felt her head jerk against his chest, he realized that she must have fallen asleep. 

 

“Mmm,” she groaned, lifting her head so she could analyze the clock on her bedside table. “Set an alarm. It's Friday night, the boys always sleep in until 10 on Saturday morning.”

 

Jim felt curiously breathless at her response. “You want me to stay?” He could barely contain his grin when he felt her nod against his chest.

 

“You're so warm,” she yawned, tightening her arm over his chest in an attempt to anchor him in place.

 

“Oh, you're using me for your warmth, are you?” he asked, teasingly as he leaned over and plucked the alarm clock from the nightstand. Satisfied with the hour he chose for a wakeup call, he set it back in place and rolled onto his side so he could spoon Joyce from behind. She sighed happily when his lips found the back of her neck.

 

“‘Night, Hop.”

 

“”Night, Joy.” 

 

Though his body was exhausted, it took Jim a good twenty minutes for sleep to take hold. He was fascinated by the sleeping woman in his arms; the way she greedily sought his warmth even as she snored, turning so her face was buried against his chest once more, the length of her dark eyelashes as they fanned across her cheeks. He brushed a forefinger against her lower lip, full and swollen from his kisses. She was quickly becoming everything, and that was a terrifying thought. He had a tendency to lose people he… 

 

But she wanted him to stay, so he would. He'd do anything she asked of him at this point.

 

_________

 

“Take. Off. Your pants,” Joyce demanded between the almost sloppy kisses she and Jim exchanged as she straddled him as he sat at his desk chair. Jonathan was on an overnight field trip, Will was at the Wheelers, and Joyce was impatient over Jim's paperwork preventing them from taking full advantage of the opportunity. 

 

“It’ll honestly just take ten minutes if you just sit over there,” Jim mumbled against her neck before dragging his teeth across the taut flesh and eliciting a sharp gasp. Joyce had already discarded her work vest and unbuttoned her blouse down to the last two buttons, taking great pains to show off her one bra that wasn’t just a utilitarian white cotton number. She cupped his face to bring his lips back to hers before giving them a quick little nip and pushing herself off of his lap and onto the surface of his desk, where she crossed her denim-clad legs. 

 

“You can still get work done this way, if you concentrate. Take off your pants, Hopper, and I’ll do something really,  _ really  _ nice for you.”

 

His eyes lit up in a way only the vague promise of a blow job could elicit. Jim’s grin was so eager, his eyes so blue, wide and sparkling with open expectation, that Joyce had to suppress a giggle at the sight. 

 

Sometimes, Joyce thought she must have lost her mind the night she let him into her house, and - in a small but significant way - her life. After all, the ink had barely dried on his divorce and hers… well she was getting to it, she really was, but having to take extra shifts to provide some semblance of a second income for her boys meant that time was precious. If her son’s friend’s mother hadn’t been a lawyer, Joyce felt like she would never have had time to even get the ball rolling. Thank god Gloria Sinclair insisted on Joyce sticking around for tea and cookies when Will stayed over at Lucas’s house. 

 

This thing with Jim she had just fallen into - Joyce knew that running around with the Chief of Police wasn’t the greatest thing to do with a divorce case on the line, especially with how acrimonious she was sure the proceedings were going to turn out, should Lonnie want to fight it, but it was so nice to feel something other than anger, fear or exhaustion. It was nice to feel desired, giddy and young - because being with Jim made her feel all of those things. It was like waking up from a long, fitful slumber or going from black and white to technicolor. He definitely made her feel bold, something she had not felt since she was 17 and lying about staying at a friend’s house so she and Jim could go on an impromptu trip to his granddad’s abandoned cabin to play house for the weekend. 

 

The Joyce Byers of two weeks ago would certainly never even consider doing what she was about to do, and in a police station of all things. Thankfully, the station was mostly empty; Powell and most of the other deputies were out on patrol, and Flo had gone home for the evening. Those remaining were playing cards in the breakroom and trying to stay functionally drunk, in case they had to be sent out or take a call. She grinned when she saw Jim push his trousers down, the metal of his belt clashing against linoleum, never breaking eye contact with her once during the maneuver. 

 

“Good boy, get to work,” Joyce cooed, a part of her brain completely disbelieving that such a statement came out of her mouth at all. Her feet hit the floor and she crouched, now eye-level with the very apparent evidence of her effect on him. 

 

“You’re killing me,” Jim uttered as her hands slid up his thighs. Joyce grinned, gave him a saucy wink, and kissed the head of his cock before giving it a few experimental licks from base to tip. Jim’s groan rumbled through his entire body, and Joyce felt strangely powerful with the knowledge, biting her lower lip shyly before taking him into her mouth entirely. That feeling of power and control only increased only increased when the shaky fingers of his left hand threaded through her hair, in an attempt to provide guidance to her movements before the hand clenched and then came to rest on the back of her neck when her mouth and tongue found his balls. Jim murmured soft encouragement as her tongue twisted and licked, his shaft pulsing and twitching in her mouth with each pass. 

“Joy, if you don’t move I’m gonna come in your- ah, fuuuuuck,” he drew out the last word when she doubled down on her efforts, her hands anchoring to his thighs as she sucked him dry, careful to avoid the involuntary and erratic rise and fall of his hips as his completion shattered through him. When the moment subsided, Joyce rose and crawled back into his lap, kissing his neck before allowing him to show breathless appreciation by raining kisses on her forehead, cheeks, eyelids, nose and mouth. 

 

“So, that didn’t work. I’m about where I started before you…” he trailed off, eyes apologetic. Joyce touched her forehead against his and shook her head. 

 

“It’s fine, I’ll go back to my side of the desk and read a little.”

 

“I’m fucking you within an inch of your life once this is over,” Jim warned.

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

She lived for rare moments like this. They had to be creative, time was an issue for both of them; most of their encounters were quick little meetings during lunch breaks, or regretfully short nights after the boys were asleep. Jim started parking about a quarter mile from the Byers’ home, using a flashlight to guide him the rest of the way, because they had to be careful too. Hawkins was a small town, and small town people typically had little to do with their free time but discuss what their fellow small town folk were doing with theirs. 

 

__________

 

“I love you,” Jim grunted out before collapsing at Joyce’s side. The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and his stomach swooped and tightened when she didn’t immediately respond. He glanced over his shoulder at her, finding her wide-eyed and panting as she lay on her back on a pile of blankets in the back of his truck. He was parked in the alley behind Melvald’s after hours, and the words had haunted the entire time he waited for her to finish inventory, coaching himself to not say them, but here they were. 

 

“Yeah?” Joyce finally inquired as she sat up to pull her jeans over her hips. She avoided eye contact as she searched for her discarded bra. “That’s not just the adrenaline talking?” 

 

This would’ve been the perfect opportunity to take it back, to blame the moment.

 

“No, it’s not.” His hand found her upper arm, caressing it gently as his eyes searched her face for an expression other than shock. “I know it’s inconvenient, because this is probably just a fun little escape for you--”

 

“Well, that’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think? I'm sorry that I can't trot you around town openly like the mayor does with his side piece--”  

 

“Side piece!”

 

“-- but it's different for me than it is for the mayor or even you. You'd all get a pat on the back, but me…”

 

“I get it,” Jim ground out, irritably, pulling his jeans over his hips and zipping the fly. “Then what is this? A little revenge on a husband who's done the same thing to you, time and time--"

 

“Stop it. It's not that either, and it's not me trying to numb my pain… even if it was, you'd have no room to talk, and would probably serve you right. Maris Hale saw us leave the station together the other night and she practically spat in my face the next day at Melvalds. I have to work with her, Hop!” She glared at him, her lips pressed together in an angry, disapproving line, her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“Maris Hale happened ages ago, I have no idea why she's so sore -- but that's not what we're talking about here! I just said something huge and--"

 

“I'm not ready to say it. Get back to me when the papers are signed.”

 

Jim opened the back of the truck and jumped out, his shoulders hunched with irritation, his eyes almost completely hooded by his furrowed brow.

 

“This is contingent on fucking paperwork?” 

 

Joyce made no move to leave the truck. “Lower your voice, would you?” She hissed.

 

“Get out of the back!”

 

“No,” she whispered. “I'm going to sit here until you talk to me like a reasonable adult - or just sit there and shout at the ass-end of the truck like a crazy person, I've got all night.”

 

She watched cautiously as he took a deep breath. After rubbing at his face with both hands, the color in his cheeks faded, and his expression turned neutral.

 

“Come out, please,” Jim pleaded in an even tone. “I'm being an over-sensitive jerk. Of course you want to be careful and of course you'd be gun shy, especially with two kids and a reputation.”

 

“It's not contingent on paperwork, Hop, the whole ‘us’ thing.” Joyce crawled from the back and allowed Jim to help her to her feet. She immediately stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed her face against his chest. She sighed when his arms tightened around her, holding her close as he nuzzled her hair. 

 

“It's not?”

 

Joyce shook her head and closed her eyes so she could revel in his warmth and his scent; pine, leather and sweat from their exertions. There was a faint trace of herself mingled in that scent. 

 

“It's crazy, though. People are going to talk once we're allowed to be more open… you might get a lot of shit for shacking up with Crazy Old Joyce.”

 

“Fuck ‘em all, I don't need anyone's approval to be with you, just yours.”

 

“Well, I'm okay with it if you are.” She let out a shriek when she felt herself being lifted and placed on the edge of the truck bed. Jim's kisses landed on her forehead, cheeks, nose and finally her lips - sloppy with ecstasy as he grinned and coaxed her mouth open so he could deepen them. 

 

“Hopper - Mmm! - Hop, what are you doing?” Joyce sighed, wriggling against his touch as his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear.

 

“Second wind, get back in the truck.”

 

Joyce snorted with laughter, weakly swatting at his chest as he started to crawl into the truck bed, nudging her back with the force of his kisses and one hand under her shirt, applying pressure to her tummy. 

 

“You idiot, I've got to get home. I'm meeting with Gloria about the divorce papers.”

 

Jim immediately halted his movements and drew back until he was standing outside of the truck. She took his proffered hands and allowed him to assist her. She gave a small noise of protest as he placed a guiding hand on the small of her back and started to walk her towards the end of the alley at an almost running speed.

 

“What the--"

 

“No time to talk, you gotta get that done.”

 

“Stop. Slow down!” Joyce was commanding through her laughter. Jim paused before the opening of the alley, chuckling, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Joyce couldn't remember the last time she had seen him so openly happy, or when she had felt the same. Boldly, she stood on her tiptoes, grabbing fistfuls of his shirtfront to pull him down for a hard, passionate kiss. 

 

“Mrs. Byers.” 

 

Jim and Joyce sprang away from one another, and Joyce felt the blood rush to her face as she recognized Lita Green. The 19 year-old had babysat for the boys last year when she was still going to Hawkins High and saving up for college. Her services extended towards Lonnie in a way that Joyce had not particularly cared for, though she had not taken it out on the girl. She had been too world weary to even be hard on Lonnie over the situation, but she had gone to the girl's parents, who promptly had her transferred to a different school for the last half of her senior year. Though Joyce and Lita’s parents both believed it made sense for the girl's safety, Lita had not agreed. 

 

The look she gave both Joyce and Jim was one of distinct smugness, and it filled Joyce with cold dread. That was two people she could trust about as far as she could throw.

 

“Lita, how is Indiana State?” Joyce asked in a tremulous voice as Jim ducked his head to clear his throat.

 

Lita shrugged. “I’m thinking about dropping out and moving in with my boyfriend. He’s getting a place in town.”

 

“Oh, honey, that’s… who is the lucky--”

 

“Good night Mrs. Byers… Chief.” Lita turned on her heel and walked away with her shoulders square and her head held high. 

 

“Shit,” Jim muttered. “I’m sorry about that, Joy.”

 

Joyce looked up at him with a sad smile. “I hope she doesn’t really drop out. She’s so smart and Lonnie…”

 

“Is a scumbag and a pervert, I know the story, darlin’. Everyone does.”

 

Joyce exhaled shakily, nodding through her tears. “Yeah. Small town.” She shrugged with a laugh. “I guess I really better get that paperwork taken care of.” 

 

Jim pulled her into a side hug, pressing his lips against the top of her head in that now familiar and all-comforting gesture. “It won’t matter what they think. I’m here for you, and I’m here for the boys.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I meant what I said in the truck, I really did.”

 

“I know.”

 

Joyce leaned up as Jim kissed her with slow, comforting passion. “I love you too,” she admitted when he pulled away. She smiled at the happy little exhale he made at her confession, and reached out to squeeze his hand before heading around the building to the parking lot, where her little car was waiting. She looked back at him about six times before finally getting into her car.

 

__________

 

“Benny, where is it?” Jim asked as his eyes fell on what was supposed to be the framed contract of his and Benny’s bet on the wall of the office. The frame and the glass were still in tact, but in its place was a blank sheet of paper. 

 

“Huh?” Benny inquired, walking into the office with two tumblers in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other. The pair were getting ready to have a few celebratory drinks over Joyce’s impending divorce; the woman in question had called Jim at the station to inform him that she had the paperwork in hand, due to some quick and clever work on Gloria Sinclair’s part. Jim’s plan was to pop the champagne, burn the contract, and let it’s cursed ashes mingle with those of the mid grade cigars he had purchased earlier that day. 

 

“The contract. Where is it?” Jim plucked the frame from the wall and held it out towards Benny. “What the fuck is this?” His voice was being to take on a panicked edge. 

 

Benny set the glasses and bottle onto his desk and took the frame from Jim’s hands, opening the back to rip out the paper and examine it.

 

“YOU DIDN’T WRITE IT IN VANISHING INK IT’S GONE!” Jim barked, bringing his hands up to tug at his hair. “Where is it?”

 

“I don’t know, man! No one comes back here but me there’s no way that…” Benny trailed off and Jim’s anxiety shattered the roof and stole the oxygen from his lungs.

 

“I picked up Lonnie a few nights ago. He was pretty drunk and well on his way to passing out in a ditch.”

 

Jim shrugged, his brow furrowed as he struggled to regulate his breathing. “You should’ve let him!”

 

“It was freezing that night, he woulda died! I know you hate him, but would you really want that on your conscience?” When Jim didn’t respond, Benny scoffed and continued. “I let him sleep in the office, but I thought he was too trashed to even know where he was and--”

 

“FUCK!” Jim stormed passed Benny, exiting the office with breakneck haste.

 

“Jim, where are you going?”

 

“Joyce’s. I have to come clean before he gets to her.”

 

Benny followed after him hurrying into the parking lot, where he finally managed to catch up and cross in front of him. “That was days ago, if he was going to use it, you don’t think he would have by now?”

 

“One of his little girlfriends caught us yesterday, I’d say if he was going to do it now would be the time - WOULD YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY?” Jim shoved Benny to one side in order to reach his truck.

 

“Should you really be driving when you’re that worked up, man?”

 

Jim didn’t answer, and within seconds he was peeling out of the driveway. 

 

__________

 

_ Knock, knock. _

 

Joyce groaned and set down her paperback. Will and Jonathan were both at the Wheelers for the evening, and she was enjoying a rare night alone with a glass of wine and a paperback romance. She headed for the door, smoothing her hair with her hands along the way. With a sigh, she threw open the door.

 

“Jim, I thought you were going to be hanging out at Benny’s tonight--” 

 

“So I’ve heard some interesting news.” Lonnie Byers stood on her porch, lips pulled in a cruel little smile. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. I am...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes pear-shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Mildly graphic depiction of domestic violence.
> 
> This is not a happy chapter, but it is the second to last one. I have a vague idea of an epilogue so this story doesn’t throw everyone into the depths, but it is still in development. Thank you so much for being the best fandom on the planet! I’m sorry I took a year break on this story, and I hope the past few chapters have made up for the fact.
> 
> Song referenced in chapter is A Case of You by Joni Mitchell.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Joyce informed her soon-to-be-ex-husband. She kept a firm grip on the handle to the screen door, fixing it in place as she glared up at Lonnie’s darkly victorious face.

 

“Joyce, let me in. I just want to talk about this mess we’re in.” Lonnie tugged at the door, and then cursed when he realized she was holding it shut. “Fucking A, Joyce.”

 

“You mean, our divorce?”

 

Lonnie released the handle of the screen door so he could double back with raucous guffaws. “Joooycie, come on. There’s not gonna be a divorce.” He wiped a few mirthful tears from his eyes and stalked back to the door. “Let me in.”

 

Joyce’s turned her gaze to the coffee table, where a large orange envelope containing her future lay. She turned back to Lonnie with a raised eyebrow. “Gloria drew up the papers.” She jerked her head towards the table. “Wanna come in and sign? You can take Lita out to celebrate after.” 

 

Something dark, frightening and familiar passed over Lonnie’s features before his mouth relaxed into his typical, devil-may-care grin. “Lita? Why the hell would I take her anywhere? That little idiot keeps following me around like a sad puppy.” 

 

Joyce made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, her anger festering and than imploding at Lonnie’s glib dismissal of Lita. There was a righteous fire under her skin as she regarded her pitiful excuse of a husband and lamented over how she could've been so stupid as to excuse his disgusting behavior time and again.

 

“Joyce, stop being stupid; we’ve done this song and dance before. Listen, I took a job at the factory, I’m moving into an apartment across town - I don’t have to jump right into our marriage again, but I want to prove to you--”

 

“You can come in if you sign the papers. It’s not like before.” Joyce’s hand relaxed on the handle of the screen door. Lonnie charged through the door with so much force that Joyce tripped over her feet attempting to avoid getting hit by it, landing hard on her bottom. Lonnie stepped over her, hands on his hips, sinister expression returning to his face.

 

“Yeah, I know you’re fucking Hop. Everyone does.” 

 

Joyce scrambled to get back on her feet, planting them firmly as she crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her chin and gave Lonnie her very best sneer.

 

“I guess I am. Did the ‘Little Idiot’ tell you? She seemed pretty confident about your relationship with her - enough to tell me she was going to quit school and move into your apartment. Seems to me we both have two very good reasons to let this marriage die.”

 

Lonnie stepped forward so his chest bumped against Joyce's, his nose practically grazing her forehead as she refused to look down and appear cowed by his aggressive stance. 

 

“I don't give a fuck if Lita Green runs away and joins the circus -" Joyce gasped as Lonnie’s hands closed around her upper arms in a painfully tight grasp. He shook her hard - twice - when she tried to twist away. “- I happen to care very much that my wife is running around with that pigfuck of a police chief, Jim Hopper - really, Joyce? Of all the-" Lonnie howled in pain as Joyce brought her right heel down against the toes of his right foot. She was barefoot, but was able to bring enough force to make an impact through the barrier of his cheap sneakers. She ducked a slap and ran to the coffee table to retrieve the envelope, hiding under her crossed arms.

 

“Lonnie, just sign them. I'm tired, you're tired, there’s no reason to- Uh!" Joyce was sent reeling back as Lonnie's fist connected with her left ear, and she almost dropped the envelope upon impact. The world went bright, then gray, but she kept consciousness as she walked backwards, intending on making a go for the mudroom off of the kitchen, where she could lock herself in and then flee through the back; however, Lonnie was quick. His hand squeezed against her throat as he shoved her against the wall with such force, it set her ears to ringing. 

 

“Try that again! Ask me to sign the papers again, I dare you.”

 

Joyce couldn't say anything at all. She felt a hot trickle run from the back of her head, down her neck, and realized that she was bleeding. Bright spots and eye worms swam in front of her vision, vivid and translucent. Lonnie's face remained the sole focus, the only constant in her fading consciousness; his eyes were almost obscured by the glare that creased his brow, but they were surprisingly blank and lifeless - that, along with the harsh, sharp planes of his face, gave him the appearance of a hungry shark. Her first instinct was to be terrified, but that was soon replaced with an indignant and fiery outrage.

 

For most of Joyce's life, she felt overpowered by bigger people. She had been teased as child for being poor and undersized, by men and women alike. She was the raggedy little doll, the wilting flower, called ‘Hey, dwarf!’ in the schoolyard and ‘kitten’ by condescending perverts and boyfriends (Jim Hopper excluded). She had endured being picked up without her consent, shoved, had her things taken and held aloft while people laughed at the way she jumped around, in a furious attempt to regain possession, and generally threatened. Here she was again, the victim of someone's underestimation. A fire burned under her flesh, and the rage in her heart went supernova when she realized that this would be the last time anyone would take her power and live to tell the tale. This time, her knee connected with his groin.

 

“Fuck!” Lonnie screamed as he released her and fell to his knees, clutching his injured crotch. “Fuck, fuck!” he grabbed her ankle when she attempted to land another kick, this time to his face. She was beneath him in a quick motion, still holding tight to the envelope, drawing pained breaths as she trembled. 

 

Lonnie pulled his fist back as he straddled her, ready to bring it down against her nose until something in her expression made him pause, his expression crumbling into one of rare anguish. He lowered his fist and fell to his side before moving into a sitting position. 

 

“Joycie, your face… oh god.” 

 

Joyce sat straight and touched the back of her head as she continued to gasp for air. The pain in her throat was excruciating. 

 

“I could've killed you.” She slapped Lonnie's hand away when he tried to cup her face. Tears flooded his eyes and she had to look away. 

 

“Sign the papers,” Joyce croaked out as she angrily dashed away tears with the back of one hand. “Sign them and get out of town.”

 

“Listen, I--"

 

“I'm doing you a kindness. Once Hop sees me he'll want to kill you. Sign the papers, go back to your apartment, your mom's or wherever you're keeping your shit and leave.”

 

“Hopper… really?” Lonnie spat out in disgust, though there was real fear in his eyes. 

 

“I'm not calling the cops. They'll lock you up, and you can't provide for the boys if you're in jail, but likely you won't make it to a cell if Hop--"

 

Lonnie held out a silencing hand. “Hold up; I'll sign.”

 

Joyce nodded, swatting him away once more as she rose to her feet on shaking legs. “And you'll leave?”

 

“Tonight. Jesus, I'm sorrier than hell, Joyce. I never meant--"

 

“Don't end this on a lie.” The sudden smirk that crept over Lonnie's features filled Joyce with wild confusion. 

 

“I won't.” 

 

Lonnie held out his hands for the envelope, which Joyce reluctantly handed over. After locating a pen on the coffee table, Lonnie went over the pages, signing his name near every yellow tab that denoted a signature box. Joyce watched with her knees drawn to her chest, unwilling to tend to her wounds until he was gone. 

 

“I need to get something from the car,” Lonnie announced after handing Joyce the envelope.

 

“You really don't,” she rasped. 

 

“You'll want this, believe me.”

 

______________

 

The only vehicle in the driveway was Joyce's, and Jim felt prematurely relieved at the sight. He pulled into the driveway and killed the headlights - Joyce's porchlight was on, breaking through the night like a welcoming beacon. 

 

Then he noticed her on the porch swing. Joyce had her head down, her face obscured by a curtain of wavy dark hair. Clutched in her hands was a piece of paper, and as Jim drew closer (no reaction from her at his presence) his stomach dropped. 

 

“Joyce,” he whispered as he sat next to her on the swing. He frowned when she gave him no acknowledgement - the frown deepened when he noticed the strange way her hair appeared matted near the back of her head. He could hear her breathing, raspy and pained, and the alarm bells went off in his head.

 

“I am begging you to look at me… just give me a sign that you're hearing me, please,” Jim's voice quavered as he placed a hand between her shoulders. She was hot beneath his palm, damn near feverish. Upon closer inspection, he was able to discern that the substance clumping her hair together in the back was clotted blood. The metallic tang of it burned his nostrils as he let out a pained moan. His heart splintered in his chest when she turned her face, the bruising, the blood, and the tired, tear-tender eyes hitting his sight like a slug to the gut. 

 

“Joy…” It was too much. The weight of his failure crushed him as Jim regarded her. Another victim for the Black Hole. In the very back of his mind, the embers of revenge began to glow, mingled with a dark, twisting urge to kill that set his hands to shake as he cupped her face. “Baby, you need to get cleaned up.”

 

Miraculously, she allowed him to help her to the kitchen. He turned on the tap in the sink and adjusted it to lukewarm before guiding her head beneath so he could gently wash the blood from her hair and get a better look at the back of her head. The wound was not serious and seemed to have stopped bleeding some time ago. Still, he fetched an ice pack, wrapped it in a towel and gingerly pressed it to her head while walking her to a dining room chair. Her lip had been split, but that had clotted as well - he cleaned the blood from her chin, his eyes trained on the mark on her cheek and the tiny constellation of bruises dotting her neck. She still clutched the contract in her hands, and the fact haunted him. There would be a confrontation, despite the eerie, empty-eyed silence he was receiving presently.

 

“Let's get you a drink,” Jim mumbled, searching the kitchen for any sign of alcohol. He located a bottle of bourbon in a high shelf, bottle dusty with neglect. Another Lonnie stash, he thought bitterly as he imagined the feel of the man’s windpipe collapsing under the pressure of Jim’s big, killing hands. Lonnie wouldn't be the first, but he'd probably be the first he actually took pleasure in slaughtering - but first, Joyce needed attention, care, and the opportunity to take Jim to task for being a disgusting pig. He poured a generous portion into a tumbler and knelt before her so he could take the contract from her hands, set it to one side, and press the glass between her hands, and give her another beseeching look.

 

“Drink. You're in shock right now, and you need a little jolt. It's actually shit bourbon, but do it for me, please.” 

 

Joyce's blank expression crumbled and was replaced with one of naked agony; her shoulders hunched and her brows knit together as her large eyes became luminous with tears before she squeezed them shut to prevent the onslaught; her chin and lower lip quivered as a pained, strange and thin keening noise escaped her throat before it turned into a harsh sob. 

 

“F-for you?” Joyce gasped out, plunking the glass on the table and standing on unsteady legs. She snatched the contract, crumpled it into a ball and threw it at him. The offending item bounced painlessly off his chest, though it may as well have been an arrow. 

 

Jim took the paper from the floor and unfolded it before rising to his full height. “Joyce, this looks bad--"

 

“You made me into a fucking bet!” She shrieked, her eyes wild, tears stopped.  “And then you made me look like a fool!” She began to pace with her hands on her hips, her head down. Jim tried to take her by an elbow, to halt her movements, she gave a strangled cry and pushed at his chest with a force that belied her diminutive size.

 

“Maris, Lita, Lonnie, Benny… do you think this is really going to stay quiet now?” 

 

Jim exhaled, her remark about keeping quiet hitting the mark. “What, so you were never going to want to be open about us?” he asked in a harsher tone than he intended.

 

“YOU MADE A BET THAT YOU COULD FUCK ME!” Joyce's hands, like nervous birds, flew to her throat and over her mouth as she stifled a moan and squeezed her eyes shut, winded by her own ferocity. Jim desperately wanted to take her into his arms and soothe her with kisses and gentle words, but he knew it would be to no avail.

 

“It started out like that - it did, and I'm sorry, Joyce, I'm so so sorry - but something changed. I was going to call it off well before you and I started to…” He willed away the image of her, pressed up against him in a deep, post-coital slumber, a small smile on her lips, banished it from his mind. “I love you.”

 

Joyce shook her head. “I can’t trust that.”

 

Jim felt tears burn at his eyes as he nodded.

 

“I just want you to leave, Jim.”

 

“I'll do whatever you like, but I just need to know that you're okay and taking care of yourself.” 

 

“I'm alive. Get the fuck out of here.”

 

_____________

 

_ Just before our love got lost you said _

_ I am as constant as a northern star and I said, _

_ Constantly in the darkness _

_ Where's that at? _

_ If you want me I'll be in the bar… _

 

Joyce allowed the sweet yet self-punishing sound of Joni Mitchell’s lamentations wash over her as she nursed her second tumbler of bourbon, her eyes flying constantly to the crinkled up contract that lay to her left on the coffee table. Every time she looked, she sipped. Her limbs were becoming heavy, and the world blurred, came into focus on repeat around her.

 

She had been too foolish, too open -her years with Lonnie had taught her absolutely nothing, it seemed. She was cursed to play the fool over and over again. 

 

Jim almost made her believe she was worthy of all of that gushy, admiration bullshit. Well, she wouldn't be making that mistake again. Rising to her feet, Joyce stumbled down the hall and into her bedroom. On her dresser was a ornate, silver jewelry box with her initials (JMC at the time the gift was purchased) engraved in a complicated design amidst roses and ivy. It had been a Sweet 16 gift from her father, one he had scrimped and saved for… or stolen, she wasn't sure. In the box were a few precious family heirlooms that Lonnie had not been able to pawn; a pearl ring surrounded by tiny emeralds, a strand of seed pearls, and a butterfly broach. All of which had belonged to Joyce's mother. The contract joined the ranks, and Joyce locked the box with a tiny key she kept in a knock-off Faberge egg music box Lonnie had bought her on their honeymoon in Wisconsin Dells. The egg was placed in the linen closet, ready to be forgotten when she sobered up.

 

Joyce expelled a heavy sigh when she heard yet another knock at her front door. It had been about two hours since Jim left and even longer still since Lonnie, but Joyce was in no condition to entertain, to put it mildly. Still, there could be an emergency with the boys.

 

“Mrs. Byers…” Lita Green was standing in Joyce's doorway, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, her face a mask of contrition and fright. Joyce felt something maternal and warm stir within her as she regarded the young girl, it was slightly sobering.

 

“Lita, what's wrong?” Joyce stepped aside to usher the girl inside. Lita shook her head, standing firm. 

 

“It happened so quickly, and I'm so sorry, Mrs. Byers, I really am! For this and… I'm just sorry for everything.” Lita’s wild, fearful eyes were fixed on the ground. Joyce's heartbeat picked up, the flutterings rising clear to her throat. 

 

“Lita?”

 

“Lonnie came back to the apartment and just packed up. I asked if I could go and he laughed, and we f-fought… he told me where I could l-look him up and he left!” Lita covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a moan. Joyce stepped forward and hugged the young woman, rubbing comforting circles against her back.

 

“Oh, sweetheart.”

 

Lita squirmed and backed out of Joyce's arms with violent force. “I think I killed him!”

 

“Wait… what?”

 

Lita nodded rapidly, biting her lower lip as her nostrils flared. “Yeah.”

 

“Lita…” Cold dread crushed at Joyce's lungs. “Did Hopper come to the apartment?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Joyce took a shuddering breath. “Okay?”

 

“I gave him the address Lonnie gave me and he was so angry - he tore outta there so fast that I think…”

 

“Fuck.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
